The Reach of Wolves
by Youmightdietrying
Summary: The call of the coming Winter and the preservation of the North cause Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell to refuse his King's request to become Hand of the King. The decision has far reaching consequences, especially for Robb Stark, who finds himself riding south on the Kingsroad with Winterfell disappearing behind him in the distance.
1. Chapter 1

Night crept in over Winterfell, and Robb Stark could just barely make out the figure of his Father seated in the middle of the Godswood. Eddard Stark was still a relatively young man, but years of rebellion and living in the harsh conditions of the North had begun to take their toll on him. The news of the King's coming arrival had done nothing to ease his Father's burdens, and Robb could see the stress that weighed down on the Lord's broad shoulders.

His Father sat on a large stone next to one of Winterfell's many hot springs, restlessly spinning a small dagger in his palm as he stared at the haunting face of the heart tree. Robb had searched for his Father to bring him news that scouts had spotted the King's party camped a day's march from Winterfell, but he hesitated at seeing the man so burdened. Robb stepped backwards one step, then another, and was about to turn back towards the keep when his Father's voice stopped him.

"There is more than enough room out here for the both of us, Son. Am I needed somewhere else?"

Robb stopped mid-turn and slowly made his way over to where his Father sat, taking a seat next to him. "No, Father. The King has been spotted. They'll be here by tomorrow. The rider said it seems King Robert has brought the whole of the South along with him."

Eddard managed a small laugh, but his heart was not in it. "That is Robert Baratheon for you, Son. He's never done anything by half. It is fortunate that the one thing that we do have in the North is an abundance of open space. We may run out of food, but the land will always be plentiful."

Robb hesitated before asking his Father the question that had been troubling his own thoughts for the past day. "Why does the King's visit trouble you so deeply? I understand that he means to ask you to become Hand of the King, but surely he would not hold it against you if you refused. He is your friend."

"Robb, when one day you are Lord of Winterfell, you will learn that it is no easy thing to deny a King anything, even one who you were great friends with in your youth."

"There would be no crown on his head if it was not for you," Robb needlessly reminded his Father.

"Another one of those things you will learn is that you should not rely on things that a King may owe you," Eddard advised, looking seriously at Robb. "It is a King's prerogative to remember or forget things as he sees fit. From what news I have heard out of King's Landing of my dear friend Robert over the years, he has developed an adeptness at forgetting his responsibilities."

"Is that what troubles you? What the King has become?" Robb watched as his Father looked away from him, staring into the heart tree as if seeking guidance from the Old Gods. They were silent for a long moment before the Lord of Winterfell spoke again.

"Many things bother me about recent events Robb. I was there in King's Landing when the Mad King fell, and I could have easily have sat on that ugly throne and called myself King. I had the North behind me and Robert would have supported me. I had a choice between that life and the North, and I chose the North. It's what I am, a Stark of Winterfell."

"It was the right choice," Robb interjected, even if his own opinion was selfish in nature. He had no doubt his Father would have been a better King than Robert Baratheon, but it would have deprived the North of his attention and forced Robb to grow up in the pit of filth that was King's Landing.

Lord Stark nodded. "Aye, it was the right decision for me, but it had consequences for everyone else. The Rebellion tore apart the realm, and we had no plans for afterwards. Robert was a warrior, not a King. Now Robert sits on the throne and makes a mockery of the man he once was. Jon Arryn was the only thing that kept Robert from completely neglecting his duties, and now I fear what the King will become without his guidance in King's Landing."

"And you feel it is your duty to fix the King's mistakes?"

"Part of me feels that way."

Robb respected his Father's sense of duty and honor, but at the same time he could not imagine the man leaving Winterfell, likely forever. Robb was not prepared to run Winterfell on his own. He knew it was selfish, but his Father belonged in Winterfell. The Mad King had killed Robb's Grandfather and Uncle in sickening fashion, and what had happened afterwards was not Eddard Stark's responsibility.

"Have you decided for certain?" Robb asked, dreading the answer.

"Not for certain." Eddard Stark was quiet once more before he set his hand on Robb's shoulder. "Come, enough of this dreary talk for tonight. Let us go and make sure your Mother hasn't run the inhabitants of the castle ragged preparing for the Queen's arrival. It won't reflect on us well if no can rise after they bend the knee for the King."

Robb had not known what to expect when the news of the King's imminent arrival had come, but it had not been the Robert Baratheon that rode through the gates of Winterfell. The ruler of the Seven Kingdoms was as fat as a boar, and when he had greeted Robb, the smell of wine on his breath had been almost overpowering. The fact that this man was supposed to have been the same one talked about in songs and stories he felt to be absurd.

However, Robb eased his judgment of the King when he got his first glimpse of the Lannisters that he was surrounded by. The Queen, the Kingslayer, and Joffrey Baratheon looked to be the group of the most pompous individuals Robb had ever laid eyes on. The way that they had looked on in contempt at Winterfell had made Robb bite his lip to stop himself from defending his home. The only thing that eased his furor was when he saw the same look on his Father's face, especially when he was forced to kiss the Queen's jewelry-laden hand.

The day went by swiftly as the whole Stark household tried to accommodate the entirety of the King's party that numbered at lease three hundred. There were knights, ladies, servants, and all manner of others who had decided to attach themselves to the King's host. Robb was relieved when he was finally able to take his seat next to Theon in the Great Hall and indulge himself in drink.

"It looks like our King is enjoying himself," Theon noted from beside him, picking at a piece of meat on his plate.

Robb looked up and saw the King, drink firmly in hand, laughing uproariously with a group of women around him, practically in his lap. Robb cringed when he saw the look on the Queen's face, she, who was sitting right next to her husband as he debauched himself. "All of this work to try and impress the King, and we could have just taken him to a brothel."

"Think Cersei would have sat there and watched with that same look on her face while he fucked the whores?" Theon questioned, and Robb almost spit out the sip of wine he had just taken.

"He likely wouldn't have cared either way from the look of him."

"Speaking of pieces of shit, I'd love to bash that prick Joffrey's face in," Theon sneered. "You should have heard him today, complaining about everything he set his eyes on and acting as if his every word should be written and spread throughout Westeros. Do you think if we left the door to his room open tonight, your wolf would tear his face off?"

"I wouldn't want to risk the taste of pampered prince making Grey Wind ill."

"I'll tell you what makes me sick, is the look your Sister is giving him. I can't believe your Father is going to let her marry him."

Robb looked over and saw Sansa and Jeyne Poole making simpering noises in the Prince's direction, ones that he seemed to be fully aware of. "I'm not sure that he had much of a choice. What was he supposed to say, 'sorry Your Grace, but I think your son is an evil shit.' No chance of that going over well," Robb stated.

Theon shrugged, "I maintain the direwolf face-eating plan is a sound option."

Robb ignored Theon, and was about to reach for a refill of wine when he saw the figure of his Uncle Benjen make his into the hall. Robb immediately stood and made to intercept the black-clad ranger of the Night's Watch.

"Robb," Benjen greeted his nephew, pulling him into a brief embrace. "You look more like a future Lord of Winterfell every time I see you."

"And you haven't changed much at all since the last I saw you. How are things on the Wall?"

"Increasingly worrisome, I'm afraid," Benjen frowned. "That's really the reason I'm down here, although the King visiting Winterfell and seeing my nieces and nephews was a convenient reason as well. There has been increased activity beyond the wall, and we simply don't have the manpower to investigate...especially when our rangers keep running south."

"The man who Father executed," Robb began, remembering the ranger's genuinely terrified appearance, "he was talking of running away from white walkers. Was he just talking nonsense?"

Benjen leaned forward so only Robb could hear him. "Ponder this Robb. The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms built castles like Winterfell and Riverrun to keep their enemies out, because _men_ can be stopped by thick walls of stone. Wildlings are uncivilized and lawless, but they are just _men_, who could be kept out by the same walls we are behind tonight. Knowing that, now ask yourself why eight-thousand years ago, our ancestors felt the need to build a wall of ice seven-hundred feet tall."

That question threw Robb, for he couldn't think of a reasonable answer. Living in Winterfell he had grown up on tales of Others, White Walkers and the Children of the Forest, but they had always just been stories meant to entertain restless children. The fact that his Uncle Benjen was implying they actually existed was terrifying. He barely noticed that he was lost in his own thoughts, until Benjen patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm going to see if I can go put that same look on your Father's face. Maybe then he will convince the King to take our request for aid more seriously. After all..."

"Winter is coming," Robb finished for him, his family's word flowing off his tongue with barely a thought.

Benjen smiled. "A true Stark." The man turned to find the Lord of Winterfell, but looked back at Robb suddenly. "Talk to your brother Jon. He means to follow me back to the Wall and I've run out of reasons to deny him. I know your Mother doesn't look on him fondly, but he shouldn't swear unbreakable vows over it."

Robb never got the chance to speak with Jon, as he was forced to extricate Arya from the Hall before Sansa did her serious bodily harm. He honestly couldn't imagine two sisters being any more different than his own. After escorting her to her room, he hard retired to his own for the evening. He could still here the revelry going on outside, but he did his best to ignore it. Grey Wind was curled at the side of Robb's bed on a warm rug, and the direwolf barely paid him any attention as he began to doze. Robb removed his cloak and boots before sliding into his bed, luxuriating in the feel of the furs against his skin. He had only been asleep for what felt like minutes when he heard something that stirred him awake.

There entering his room stood his Father, dressed in simple clothes and covered by a thick cloak. Lord Stark softly shut the door before he walked across the grey stone floor and sat down in a chair next to Robb's bed. Robb pushed himself up and looked questioningly at his Father. He quickly looked outside and verified that it was still dark out. Something was wrong.

"You are man now, Robb, and as the future Warden of the North, you need to know the things that will affect the people you are responsible for protecting. I had considered keeping this to myself, but I have faith that you are ready to hear it." Robb unconsciously straightened his back, sitting taller at his Father's words. He tried to mold himself after Eddard Stark, and having his Father's trust was something that he cherished beyond anything.

"A raven came from your Aunt Lysa tonight. She said that Jon Arryn was murdered and implicated the Lannisters as the ones responsible for the crime."

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't know what to believe Robb. I've never thought the highest of Lysa, but to risk sending such a thing accusing the Lannisters has to mean _something_. That, and after watching Jaime Lannister put his sword through the Mad King, there is little I would not believe the Lannisters capable of. And now Robert had led a hoard of them under our roof," Eddard finished.

"You believe the King's life to be in danger?" Robb questioned, yet he already knew the answer.

"I do," his Father sighed loudly, running a hand through his long hair. "Robert may be King in name, but Tywin Lannister and his vaults of gold lurk in the shadows pulling invisible strings. Jon Arryn was always there to look out for the interests of the realm, but with him gone no barriers remain. Tywin may seek to prematurely put Joffrey on the throne, which means Cersei Lannister would hold complete sway over the Seven Kingdoms."

"And now you feel even more compelled to follow the King back to King's Landing?"

"More so than I did after our conversation yesterday."

"And what if Aunt Lysa is right?" Robb offered. "What if you go to the Capital and the Lannisters find out that you know? They obviously had no trouble killing one Hand, wouldn't it mean little to them to do it to another?"

"They would have difficult questions to answer, but unfortunately gold is the answer to many of them," Eddard responded grimly. "I would not be alone, though. I would take a portion of the guard with me."

"I don't think the guard would be of much use against the might of Casterly Rock. If something were to happen in King's Landing, Tywin Lannister would stand between you and our bannermen. And what of this business with Sansa marrying Joffrey? If you go to King's Landing she will want to go with you."

Robb watched as his Father growled in frustration, and he felt the need to try and reason past some of the man's inner conflict. "Father, you said that you felt the need to tell me about Aunt Lysa's warning because I'm the heir to Winterfell, so will you listen to my opinion as the same?"

His Father looked at him somberly, but nodded. "I will."

"I think we don't know for sure that the Lannisters mean to kill the King. They may have killed Jon Arryn for some other reason we don't know. But if you follow him to King's Landing and start looking into his murder, it may encourage them to act."

"You believe it will provoke them. But if I don't accept his offer, Robert will name Tywin Lannister Hand of the King and they will have what they want."

"The King may be safer if Tywin Lannister is named Hand," Robb argued.

"How so?" his Father questioned.

"If you were to become Hand, the Lannisters would have to remove you, which would likely lead them to having to remove the King as well. Losing two Hands to sudden deaths would likely draw even Robert Baratheon's attention. But if Tywin Lannister is Hand, then the Lannisters get what they want without the need for anyone's death. You said it yourself, Jon Arryn was running the kingdom as Hand."

"If the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, Robb, then they must be called to answer for it. It cannot simply be cast aside. Justice demands that we act."

Robb shook his head, "I agree with you Father, but the truth is that we simply may not be in a position to deal it out. If it comes to meting out punishment, you would be much more effective leading an army of Northerners against Tywin Lannister then seeking justice in King's Landing surrounded by people who line their pockets with Lannister gold. I'm not saying we forget their crimes, I'm saying we wait until the time is right."

They fell into another heavy silence. Robb had worked himself up and restlessly strode towards a window, looking out into the night. He was six and ten years, and before the news of the King's arrival, he had been concerned over simple things...riding, hunting, practicing with his sword and bow with Jon in the tiltyard. Now he was closed in his room in the middle of the night discussing the future of the Seven Kingdom with his Father.

"It must be the Tully blood in you," his Father said from across the room. Robb turned and stared at his Father in confusion. "All of this political posturing has always been beyond me. Soldiering I understand. Your enemy is always in front of you and it's clear whom you're fighting. Now we have Lannisters plotting and Night's Watch running from things that we talk about in stories to frighten children."

"You spoke with Uncle Benjen?"

"Yes, we spoke of the struggles on the Wall."

"And what did you make of it?"

"I think Benjen believes in everything he says," Eddard answered, stepping around the true intent of Robb's question. "Robert wouldn't hear a word of it of course, but I've promised Benjen I would send ravens to our bannermen seeking aid. Unfortunately, I doubt any will take the message seriously until wildlings start crossing over in greater numbers. Most of the Northern Lords are more concerned with stocking food with winter coming than they are with making sure the Wall is properly manned."

"Another reason you are needed here. I'm not ready to manage Winterfell through a winter on my own," Robb confessed, trying not to sound like a child begging for their parent's help.

"Robb, no one is ready to manage a winter in the North. You'll learn that someday. Winter gives no warning and it shows no mercy. All we can do is survive the driving snow and bitter cold and help as many of our people survive as well. That is what it means to be Lord of Winterfell." His Father stood from his chair and walked back towards the chamber door. He reached for the handle but did not turn it. "You remember yesterday when I told you it was no easy thing to deny a King?"

"Aye," Robb affirmed.

"Tomorrow I intend to try," Eddard advised, though he looked sick at just the thought of it. "Robert means to hunt in the Wolfswood, and I will give him my answer after he has had an opportunity to release his aggression on the northern game. Although I may have more cause to worry from your Sister if Robert decides to break her engagement."

"We could only be so lucky," Robb muttered as his Father stepped out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

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Robb stood next his brothers, Jon and Bran, as they watched the parade of heavily armed men make there way through the Hunter's Gate and into the heart of the Wolfswood. His Father walked next to the King, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the prospect of a hunt with his oldest friend.

"Is something on your mind?"

Robb looked to his left and saw Jon looking at him expectantly. "What do you mean?"

"You have an extremely serious look on your face."

"I'm sorry, I forgot you were the surly one," Robb grinned, before letting his face fall back to impassiveness. "It's nothing to speak of here. I imagine you will find out soon enough."

"If you're sure."

"What I'm not sure about," Robb began, dragging Jon away from Bran, "is this Night's Watch business."

"Robb leave it be, I've made up my mind."

"Well I'm going to unmake it. You've got a lifetime to decide to go to the Wall, but once you do, there is not any coming back. Those vows are forever, Snow. Ask that fool whose head Father removed."

"You don't understand, Robb. There's honor in being a man of the Night's Watch. More than a bastard could hope for here."

"Stop with the bastard nonsense, Jon. You're so caught up on a word it's become obsessive. You're still the son of the Lord of Winterfell and brother to the heir. Don't let my Mother push you from your home."

"It isn't about your Mother," Jon countered. "It's what I want. And I won't be alone because Uncle Benjen will be there as well."

Robb opened his mouth to speak again but realized that his Brother's mind was set. The look on Jon's face also showed a weariness of any further potential challenges to his decision. Robb sighed and shook his head. He looked back and saw that Bran had wandered off somewhere while he and Jon had been talking. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Grey Wind and Ghost lurking, forcing several visiting southerners to scamper in the opposite direction. Finally turning back to Jon, he spoke. "Let's go to the training yard. It will be some measure of comfort for me to know that you can properly use a sword when you face the things living beyond the Wall."

Jon's face relaxed and he laughed. "You should hope I can wield my sword better than you, because we both know if the wildings make it down here you'll be utterly useless."

Robb circled around his Brother, practice sword gripped tightly with both hands. They had been at it for the better part of an hour and neither had done better than a glancing blow against their opponent. It was a consequence of them both being trained by Ser Rodrick Cassel their entire lives. They were both balanced, focused on proper footwork and defense. Robb was about to try another strike when he heard girlish cackling behind him. He felt his day get just a bit worse when he was saw the form of Prince Joffrey leaning against a wooden post.

"Is something amusing?" Robb asked, letting his sword drop to his side as Jon moved to stand beside him.

"I think I've just witnessed the least inspiring attempt at fighting that I've ever seen. You and the bastard haven't done anything but look at each other for an hour."

"Oh, and you're a master of the sword are you? Do you even know which end of that to hold," Jon asked, referring to sword on the Prince's belt, which had a hilt adorned with Lannister gold.

"Mind your words bastard, your speaking to the heir to the Iron Throne," Joffrey puffed, raising his chin at them. He then turned to Robb. "You must be glad that he is destined for the Wall, with the way his presence befouls the Stark name. You'll be able to forget him soon enough, though. It's just a shame you can't do anything about this dreadful country of yours as well."

It was lucky that Robb had Jon to hold back, or else he would have had great difficulty stopping himself from throttling the golden-haired, silk-adorned nuisance. "You do know that the country that you're insulting is your future queen's home?

"Once we're wed she'll forget all about this wasteland," Joffrey laughed. "A good thing too, as I've no intention of returning."

"I don't know how the North will ever bear your loss," Robb snipped.

"You never know, Stark. When I'm King, I just may decide that the Northern lords need to be brought to heel. I may decide that you're given too much freedom. No one said the Starks should remain Wardens of the North forever."

Now Robb stepped forward until he was just inches away from boy. "You do that, _Your Grace_. And when you and your army cross the Neck, there will be twenty-thousand men of the North there ready to greet you."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, it's so, and it won't just be men." At Robb's last word, a deep growl echoed behind Joffrey, causing the Prince to jump. Joffrey back-stepped quickly as Grey Wind padded towards them in a way that was both graceful and terrifying. "I'd love to see what these Northern wolves could do to a lion." Robb was going to continue his antagonizing, until the imposing figure of Sandor Clegane, scarred face and all, stepped out of the shadows. Apparently the Prince needed a watcher at all times.

"Trouble, Your Grace?" the Hound asked in a tone that belied little enthusiasm for keeping an on the egotistical Prince. Robb knew though, that the man was not one to cross if someone valued his life.

"Of course there's no trouble, Hound," Joffrey simmered. "I was simply conversing with some of our Northern subjects. Come, I'd like to retire to my room." The Prince tried to walk away with as much dignity as he could muster, but it was difficult when he was quite clearly doing his best to steer away from Grey Wind, whose eyes hadn't left the royal.

"Here boy," Robb called, and the direwolf came over to his master who proceeded to run his hand through its thick fur. Robb gave the wolf a final pat on his back before he turned back to Jon. "Let's go to the kitchens. Battling wits with a Prince has given me an appetite."

"A good plan," Jon said putting away their practice swords. "If there really are white walkers beyond the Wall, I may try and convince them to bypass the North and take up residence in the Red Keep."

"Tell them to look for the blonde prick that shits gold." They walked side by side toward the kitchens, when all noise inside Winterfell was overcome by the piercing howl of a direwolf. Robb looked behind them and saw both Grey Wind's and Ghost's heads turn immediately toward the sound. They both responded in kind before taking off in the direction of the noise. Robb glanced sideways at Jon, who nodded. The kitchens forgotten, they accelerated to try and catch up with their wolves.

It did not take them long to see the wolves were leading them towards a tower, and the scene at the tower's base was enough to draw the air out of Robb's lungs. He ran faster than he believed possible until he was next to the unmoving form of his younger Brother. "Bran!" He yelled, grabbing the boy's face in his hand. "Bran, wake up!" There was no response, and Robb looked down at the unnatural position of the boy's legs. He turned to Jon and was about to tell him to seek out Maester Luwin, but his other Brother was already on his way. "Hang on, Bran," he whispered. It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized that was exactly what the boy had not managed to do.

There was an eerie silence that had fallen over the entire castle. When the Lord of Winterfell's son suffered a grievous injury, the grief was felt down to the lowliest of servants. Robb had taken to secluding himself in the Godswood. Every time he tried to walk somewhere, he inevitably found himself either drawn towards Bran's room or to the place where the boy had fallen. Maester Luwin had little doubt that Bran would live, but it pained Robb horribly to know that the young boy who was so full of life and unbound adventure would likely never walk again. The boy who dreamed of being a knight would certainly never be one.

"I see I'm not the only one seeking answers."

Robb turned his head from where he sat and watched his Father approach. "The Old Gods don't seem to speak to me as they do you, Father."

"Be patient and they will, son. Of course they may not. Some times it is up to us to seek our own answers," his Father said running a hand down the withered bark of the heart tree.

"Like how a boy who practically lives on Winterfell's walls managed to fall off them?"

"Aye, that's an answer I would like as well."

Robb looked seriously at his Father. "What if the answer is that he didn't fall?"

"Hopefully when Bran wakes he will have the answers we seek. And if the answer is that he didn't just fall, then justice will be done."

"No matter the name?"

"No matter the name," Eddard Stark affirmed. "Speaking of answers, there's still one that _I_ need to give to the King. These past days of watching over Bran and your Mother have distracted me from the task."

"When do you mean to tell the King?" Robb asked.

"Today," his Father answered. "There's no use drawing it out any longer."

"May I come with you, Father? I'd like to be there to support you."

His Father exhaled slowly. "I don't expect it to be a pleasant conversation, but I suppose it would be good to expose you to what being a Lord entails. Let us go find my friend and get this whole episode over with. Hopefully we are still friends when it is over."

They found the King seated on the chair usually reserved for Robb's Father when he was acting in his official capacity as Lord of Winterfell. The hall itself was quiet, with only two Kingsguard standing behind the King on either side. Robb was pleased to see that Jaime Lannister was not among them.

"Ned," the King greeted. "Any news on your boy."

"None, Your Grace," his Father answered. Robb stayed a step behind as his Father approached the King's chair and slowly dropped to one knee."

"Seven hells Ned, there's no one here. You don't need to kneel to speak to me," the King groaned. "I get enough of that in King's Landing."

"Respectfully, Your Grace I feel I must. You traveled a great distance all the way to Winterfell in the hopes that I would solve a problem for you, but I regret that you will have to return home unsatisfied."

"What are you saying?" the King spoke quickly, leaning forward in his chair.

His Father hesitated a moment before speaking. "I am saying that many years ago I followed you south to King's Landing, but once in a lifetime was enough. I cannot do it again. I cannot leave my family."

Now the King stood, and Robb could see the man's eye twitch in obvious agitation. "Your King, the man you swore fealty to, has come to your home and done you the great honor of asking you to serve at his side as Hand of the King and your answer is no? I am hearing that right Eddard Stark? The man who values his honor above all else is going to turn his back on his Kingdom?"

"I cannot leave Catelyn here by herself while my son lays in a bed, broken and refusing to wake. I can forgive myself for refusing my King's request to become Hand, but I could not forgive myself for being in King's Landing if Bran were to fade. I cannot tell you much it grieves me if my decision offends, Your Grace."

"You're fucking right it offends me!" the King boomed. "It's bad enough that there are those around Westeros that still call me Robert the Usurper. It will only encourage their defiance when they hear even my closest friend has turned his back on me. Add to that the Targaryens are still out there, biding their time."

"I may not be your Hand, Robert, but as long as I live I swear to the Old Gods that no Targaryen will hold power in the Seven Kingdoms ever again. No Stark and no Northman would ever bend their knee to those fire-loving madmen."

"That will not stop the plots and rumors, and you know Cersei will have me name Tywin Lannister Hand of the King. We've seen how _his_ loyalty can shift in the wind, to our own damn beneift."

"And the moment he turned his back on you, I would march on Casterly Rock and throw every last piece of Lannister gold into the sea."

"Fat lot of good it would do me with Jaime Lannister's sword poking through my guts," The King grimaced.

"I like Stannis well enough," his Father countered, and Robb had to do his best not to look at the man as if he had lost all of his sense.

"Now I know you're full of shit, because no one in the Seven Kingdoms likes Stannis. Plus, in case you've forgotten I have two sons who would sit on the Throne before Stannis."

"Speaking of your son," Robb's Father began tentatively, "how will this affect the betrothal of my daughter."

The King sighed and sat back down in his chair. "Damn the Gods Ned, I don't see how I can let the betrothal stand. My Queen is about as fond of you as she is of me. She fought me enough at marrying off that coddled boy, but she would lose her senses if I allowed him to marry into a family that had insulted the crown. "

"I know my daughter will be greatly disappointed," Eddard Stark said, though Robb was sure his Father was not disappointed at all. He certainly wasn't.

"Yes, well she's young, I'm sure she'll get over it quick enough. Now if that's all, I believe preparations need to be made for our return journey South."

Robb's Father stood up from his kneeling position and offered his friend a small bow. "Of course, Your Grace. Know that anything Wintefell has to offer is yours." Eddard turned towards the entrance to the hall, and Robb was about to follow when he saw a look of deep thought appear on the King's face, followed by the man rising from his chair again.

"Ned," Robert Baratheon called, stepping down from the raised dais. "Now that you mention it, there is one thing that you could do for me."

"Name it Your Grace."

"You know how much I despise these political games, but unfortunately they are sometimes necessary. I meant what I said about this whole _thing_ reflecting badly on me," the King said, gesturing between himself and Robb's Father. "I'd ask that you send young Robb here with me back to King's Landing."

"Am I to be a hostage?" Robb asked, not able to contain the first thought that jumped to his mind. He immediately regretted when he saw the pointed and stern look from his Father.

"I don't think _my_ _friend_ was implying any such thing. Were you, Your Grace?" his Father asked, turning the strong look back to the King. It was clear that Eddard Stark was skeptical of the King's request as well.

"No, no, of course not," the King boomed, in a jovial manner. He approached Robb and placed a fat hand on his shoulder "Your Father and I were wards of Jon Arryn as boys and it was an invaluable experience. It turned us in to the men we are today."

"Robert, we were eight year old boys when we went to the Eyrie. Robb is no small boy," Eddard argued.

"I'm not speaking of a permanent arrangement, Ned. Robb will spend a year or two in King's Landing as my guest in court. It's good for a future Lord to get some exposure to the other kingdoms. He can meet the other Lords and maybe fight in a tourney or two. Hell, if he show's enough promise maybe one day I can tell Tywin Lannister to piss off and name him Hand."

Robb stood in the Great Hall of the only place he had ever called home and was left at a complete loss. The King wanted him to travel to King's Landing. Robb knew it was mostly for the King's own benefit, but he had to admit the idea was intriguing. However, reality hit him when he remembered the whole reason that the King was _in_ Winterfell. Someone had possibly murdered Jon Arryn, the Lannisters if Lysa Arryn was to be believed. He would be heading into the most dangerous place in Westeros that was not north of the Wall.

He also quickly realized that his Father knew this as well. And his Father also knew that the King's request was not really a request at all. It was one thing for a Lord to refuse a position that was a substantial commitment like the Hand, but for something simple like allowing your son to be fostered at another castle was a common occurrence. When the _King_ asked to foster your child, you most certainly did not refuse. Robb saw that his Father was fighting an internal battle, and he knew that if he did not act for himself that his Father might change his mind about being Hand. He could not allow that to happen.

Following his Father's example, Robb knelt before the King. "It would be a great honor to accompany you to the Capital, Your Grace. I know it will be a truly great experience."

"You see there, Ned," the King exclaimed, pulling Robb to his feet. "It's all settled."

"So it would seem," Ned Stark said, his forced, upbeat voice just slightly wavering.

At that moment, Robb thought that he could solve another problem as well. "If I may make a request Your Grace?"

"Speak," the King encouraged.

"Your Grace, I would ask that my Brother be allowed to join me in King's Landing."

"The littlest one?" the King asked in confusion. Of course, Robb thought, with Bran unconscious the King would think of Rickon.

"No, Your Grace. I talk of my Brother, Jon. I understand that he does not bear the Stark name, but he is still my Brother in blood."

"The bastard?" The King asked, bluntly. Robb grit his teeth at the comment.

"Yes, Your Grace. Jon and I are of similar age, and we have been raised together our entire lives. This is an opportunity I'd greatly like to share with him, if it would not offend."

The King took a moment to contemplate the request, but when he shrugged, Robb sighed in relief. "My Wife _will_ be offended, so all the more reason. Maybe you two fine Northern boys will have a good affect on my heir and get him to let go of his Mother's skirts."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Robb responded, knowing already that Jon was going to be furious with him.

"Think nothing of it," the King waved him. "Now, I'm going to retire to my chambers. I'm sure you have preparations to make, and I have send a damn raven to Tywin Lannister. I'll be damned if I'm stopping at Casterly Rock on the journey home." The King grabbed a cup of wine off a table and, flanked by his Kingsguard escort, exited the hall. It was then that Father and Son finally were alone, and stared at each other in a shocked silence.

"Robb, I don't know whether I should be proud of you, or whether I should be incensed," his Father lamented. "What I do know is that I am sending you into the lion's den."

"It was _my_ choice, Father," Robb stated. "You are needed here. Maybe this way we can keep eyes on the happenings in King's Landing and keep you apprised."

Robb was hardly prepared when his Father reached out and grabbed him by his cloak, forcefully. "You listen to me Robb. You do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. You take no chances with yours or your Brother's lives. If you think something is wrong, then you board a ship, or you take horses and you head for home as fast as you can. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord," Robb agreed, addressing his Father by title to let him know he was serious.

"Good," his Father responded, relaxing his grip, but only slightly. "I _am_ proud of you, Son. Now we can go break the news to the others. It won't go over well for either of us I'm afraid."

"Who do you think will react the worst?"

"Sansa and Jon will understand our actions, though they may not like it. I'd put my gold on your Mother. For me allowing her firstborn to go to King's Landing instead of myself, I may go to my bed in armor in the coming nights."


	3. Chapter 3

Robb was grateful that the King's party had taken to assembling outside the walls of Winterfell, because it seemed to him that the whole of the inhabitants of the Castle had shown to see him and his Brother off. His Father had even managed to pry his Mother away from Bran's bedside, though Robb could tell being just mere steps away was still difficult for her. Sansa, stood to the right of Arya, who was flanked on her other side by Rickon.

Behind the Starks stood Jory Cassel, who would be accompanying he and Jon to King's Landing for the duration of their stay. They would also be bringing two servants, a mother and daughter, who worked in Winterfell's Keep.

The smallest Stark was the first to approach, and when he got close enough, Robb reached down and lifted him so they were eye to eye.

"I expect you to behave while we're gone. Focus on your studies with Maester Luwin, and listen to Father and Mother."

"I will, Robb," Rickon promised, as he squirmed to be put down. Robb obliged and ruffled the boy's shaggy hair. Next came Sansa, who somewhat stiffly embraced him. Robb sensed some regret in Sansa's face that he was leaving, but there was still a part of her that was angry that _he_ was the one going to the Capital and not her. However, he had little chance to dwell on his sullen Sister, as the younger one wrapped her arms around his middle.

"I'll miss you," Arya mumbled into his cloak. "Two years is a long time."

"Aye," Robb agreed. "I expect you'll be a proper lady by the time I return."

"You could be gone a fifty years, and that still would not happen," she huffed.

"No, I doubt it would," Robb agreed, unable to picture his adventurous Sister in a frilly southern dress. "If you want to be a great warrior then, by all means you should be. Maybe Father will ship you off to Bear Island to Lady Mormont. She would make a fighter of you."

"If it would get me away from Sansa..."

"One thing," Robb interrupted, "just one thing I ask of you while we're gone, is that you not fight with Sansa. She's your blood, and it bothers Father and Mother to no end. They have enough to worry about with Bran still unwell. Promise me?"

Arya grumbled, but nodded. "I promise."

"Good." Robb let his Sister move on to Jon, and then saw his tearful Mother approach. She had done her best to look presentable, but the grief over Bran was still clearly discernable on her face. Robb felt her fingers brush the stubble on his cheeks as she held his face in her hands.

"Robb...," She managed to strangle out before was forced to collect herself. "_Please_ be safe. I can hardly bear the thought of something happening to another one of my children."

"I will Mother."

"Do not let King's Landing or the Lannisters corrupt you. Remember that you are the Heir to Winterfell, and do not trust _anyone_. There are many an ambitious man who would seek to use you for their own gain."

"I promise I'll be vigilant. We understand what we are heading into." His Mother nodded reluctantly before placing a final kiss on his cheek. She stepped away without sparing a glance for Jon, though Robb was not surprised. Finally, his Father approached, the Lord of Winterfell wrapped tightly in his cloak of furs. The man wore a grim look on his face, exposing his true feelings with present events.

"I know I don't need to harry you boys about the need to be careful and keep your wits. You've Stark blood running through your veins and you've been raised to be good men. I have no doubt you will represent our House well. Stay close to Jory, and if problems arise that are beyond your control, then you seek out the King and no one else. Keep us abreast of happenings in King's Landing and anything out of the ordinary. Remember that you may be in the southern lands, but the North is always standing behind you."

"We will Father," Robb responded, bowing his head.

"Yes, Lord Stark," Jon echoed simultaneously from his side.

"Good," Robb's Father stated, reaching out and placing a solid hand on each boy's shoulder. "Now I have something for you both." Robb has barely noticed Mikken, the castle's blacksmith, approaching his Father from behind. The old, white-haired man carried what were clearly two swords in his arms. He handed them to Robb's Father who turned and held one out to each of his sons. Robb held the broadsword in his hands and immediately noticed its relatively lightweight. The sword was shorter than the one his Father normally carried, but Eddard Stark was broader where Robb was leaner.

He admired the fine craftsmanship of the blade as he slid it from its sheath. His fingers sank into the supple leather strips that wrapped around the grip, and then twisted his hand to get a feel for the movement.

"It's a fine blade, Father," Robb praised, slipping the sword back into place, and letting it rest against his side.

"You should be thanking Mikken. I only gave him two days to make them." At his Lord's praise, the gruff blacksmith simply nodded his head and turned back in the direction of his forge. The reality of the pending separation swiftly returned and Eddard held out a hand and embraced each of his sons quickly. "You best mount up. If I know Robert, he has already started riding south.

Robb offered his family one last smile before attaching his new blade to his horse's saddle and climbing on. He immediately ran his gloved hand over his black courser's mane, before looking to see that Jon was mounted and ready as well. Jory was already at the gate, and the cart carrying the two servants and their baggage was already joined with the King's party. Robb took a final look around the Castle, wanting to have a lasting image in his head of his home, before he encouraged his horse on through the gate.

"So instead of heading north with Uncle Benjen like I had planned for years, I find myself riding with the King to the Capital. Could you tell me again how that happened Stark?" Jon had quickly caught up with him and immediately renewed his complaints that had not ceased since Robb shared the news of their impending journey.

"You'll have to get used to it at some point Jon," Robb sighed. "It's not as if we're going forever. The Wall will still be there when we return. And think of all the distinguished fighters we'll have a chance to meet in the Capital. Better to refine your skills with quality men then on the Wall with thieves and rapists."

"He's right Jon," Jory added from Robb's left. "Just think you'll be walking the same halls with the likes of Barristan Selmy. Few outside of Jaime Lannister could match swords with that man and live to speak of it."

"You should have stopped at the mention of Barristan the Bold, Jory. I could have done without the reminder that we're to be surrounded by Lannisters," Robb griped.

"No disrespect intended, my Lord, but I would not be doing my duty if I didn't caution you against voicing your displeasure so openly. We've left the safety of Wintefell, and there are eyes and ears everywhere." Robb nodded at Jory's counsel, sufficiently chastised for his carelessness. While there were Kingsguard and those bearing the crowned stag of House Baratheon, it was the red armor of the Lannister guards that was most prominent in the procession making its way down the Kingsroad. He knew that he needed to regard each one as a potential enemy.

As the day passed a band of summer snow and cold rain descended upon them, slowing their march. The King had hoped to make it to Castle Cerwyn, which was less than a day's ride from Winterfell, but the road quickly became soft and the horses and cart were slowed to a trudge. As soon as the first hints of darkness showed in the sky, the decision was made to set up camp for the night. They settled to the west of the Kingsroad, between the western tributary that fed the White Knife and the Wolfswood.

Robb chose a spot on the eastern edge of the camp closest to the Kingsroad. They had two tents, one large enough for he, Jon and Jory, and a smaller for the two Winterfell servants. He and Jon made quick work of constructing them, eager to get out of the wet weather. Robb was just getting his makeshift bed arranged for the night when another figure appeared at the mouth of the tent. Robb immediately knew it was no solider because the man was weedy and looked like a strong breeze would knock him over. He wore the King's sigil on his cloak so Robb guessed he was a servant or even a squire.

"Is there something you needed?" Jory asked, while Robb was busy surveying the visitor.

The dark-haired man wiped dripping rainwater from his brow before he answered. "His Grace has requested that Lord Stark dine with him in his tent. If you would follow me, I will escort you."

Robb looked back at Jon, who merely shrugged and motioned for him to go. They both knew it was not an invitation for the both of them. He took a step toward the entrance to the tent, but stopped when he saw Jory pick up his sword. "Jory, stay here with Jon."

"But my Lord-"

"It's fine, Jory," Robb assured the conflicted solider. "The Kingsguard will be standing watch. There's no need for you spend your night on your feet. Plus, someone should keep Snow out of trouble." Robb didn't stop to see Jon's reaction to his comment, but he didn't miss the sound that could only be described as one of disbelief that left his brother's throat. He also didn't allow Jory another chance to object before he was back outside.

The icy drizzle assaulted his face like hundreds of tiny pinpricks. Most had already sought shelter in their tents for the night, but a few still braved the weather. The Baratheon messenger led him through the maze of tents until they reached what was clearly the King's. Two Kingsguard, one short and fat and the other with a scruffy red beard, stood on each side of the entrance. As Robb approached, the two men, in their shining white army, stared down at him harshly, doing their best to intimidate him. Robb simply brushed passed and pulled aside the entrance to the tent.

He had expected that the King would be dining with his family, or at least some of his bannerman and retainers, but instead he sat alone at a table, papers and platters of food laid out in front of him. Even though a pitcher of wine rested by him, the King looked as sober as Robb had seen him, staring down at unfurled piece of parchment. The King only tore his eyes away from the missive when he realized that he was no longer alone.

"Ah, Robb, glad you could join me. Come take a seat and pour yourself a drink. I'm afraid we went through most of the quality drink on the journey North, but this will do the trick just the same."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Robb moved further into the tent and took a seat across from his host. He reached for the pitcher and began to pour when he noticed that the King's attention had once again been pulled towards the parchment.

"You'll have to excuse me, son," Robert sighed, as he noticed Robb's curious stare. "I thought leaving the Capital would get me away from the headaches of ruling for a time, but it seems I was wrong. Bad news will find you no matter how far north you ride it apparently."

"What sort of bad news, if I may inquire, Your Grace?" Robb took a drink from his cup and realized that the King had exaggerated the substandard quality of the wine. It was still better then most of the vintages that they imported to Winterfell.

"The worst kind of trouble," Robert growled at Robb's curiosity. "Targaryens...across the sea, trying to regain their strength. I warned your stubborn Father that this would happen. Now one of them is off and married to a Dothraki. This was precisely why I needed Ned. I may be a drunk King, but those silver-haired devils all have a madness inside them that needs to be eradicated."

Robb had remained silent as the King let his obvious frustration out. "I am truly sorry that my Father's decision to remain in Winterfell disappointed you, Your Grace. The Starks and Baratheons have been close allies, and I wouldn't see any strain in those ties. Whatever service I may offer you, Your Grace, I gladly do so."

The King laughed loudly as Robb finished his last word, and he thought to be offended before the man reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "My god, if you don't sound like a younger version of Eddard Stark." The King's chuckles tapered off before he became serious again. "That is the greatest compliment I could offer any man. And I promise I'll put you to good use when we reach King's Landing. I already trust you more than most people I deal with on a daily basis."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Robb replied. He was finally starting to feel a trace of excitement that he wouldn't be idle during his time in King's Landing.

"It's nothing. You're doing me a great favor, coming to King's Landing. Few names have as much meaning in the Seven Kingdoms as Stark. Maybe-" Whatever the King had been about to say was suddenly cut off by the sound of shouts from outside the tent.

"What the hell is that?" The King stood from his chair, and Robb quickly followed. "Trant!" the King yelled towards the tent entrance.

At the King's call, the bearded Kingsguard stepped into the tent, gleaming sword drawn. "Raiders, Your Grace," the Knight shouted.

"How many?" the King asked.

"It's hard to tell, Your Grace... twenty-five or thirty, maybe. They came from the woods."

"Wildlings," Robb interjected.

"What the fuck are wildlings doing this far south?" the King cursed. "Trant, make sure my family is protected." The sentry exited the tent and immediately shouts of commands went out to the soldiers outside. The King walked across the ten and pulled his sword from the sheath where it was housed. "Remind me to send a raven to the Lord Commander after this is settled. As if don't have enough to manage, last thing I need to worry about now is wildlings invading. How are you with that sword, boy?"

"Well enough, Your Grace," Robb responded, as he pulled his Father's gift out from his side. His palms were wet with the anxiety of the moment, but he kept the sword tight in his hand. There were more screams from outside the tent, many of which were those of agony as steel ripped through relenting flesh. The yells came closer and closer until the clang steel on steel was just feet away from where Robb stood.

Robb's attention was focused on the mouth of the tent, but suddenly it shifted when he heard the ripping of fabric behind him. Three swords pierced the tent and tore away large swaths. As soon as the openings were big enough, three figures stepped through. They were undoubtedly wildlings. Each had long, straggly hair and were dressed in a jumbled mixture of cloth and furs. Their blades were jagged and the farthest thing from castle-forged steel.

The first man through wasted no time and charged at Robb. His enemy's blade flared at his head, and Robb just barely managed to duck under it, but as he did he took the chance slide the edge of his own blade up the man's side. There was a howl of rage, and the man swung around, throwing another strike. The swing came from Robb's left, so he swung his own sword as hard as he could to block. The wilding was knocked off balance, and he stumbled forwards onto his knees. Robb only hesitated for a moment before he lodged his sword into the man's neck, ripping apart the artery and causing dark blood to spurt into the air.

The realization that he had just ended the man's life punched him in the gut, but the sound a loud growl from the King force him to push the feeling aside. The two wildlings had the King cornered, but they looked like they had not done so without injury. When it seemed that both were going to make a move to rush the King, Robb lunged forward and skewered one through the back and out the belly. The other wildling looked over to see what halted his companion, which gave Robert Baratheon plenty of time to move. The once-great warrior gripped the wildling's sword hand in his own large one, then drove the tip of his sword up through his jaw and out the top of his head.

For a moment everything in the tent was silent, except for his and the King's loud breaths of exertion. Then suddenly, without warning, the King let out a hearty laugh. Robb tried not look at the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms as if he thought him mad, but he wasn't sure he managed. The King continued to chuckle as he pulled his sword from the dead man's skull. "God, I've missed this," he sighed. "There's nothing like an attempt on your life to make you feel alive. Fighting side by side with a Stark... now I just need a drink and a pretty young maid to grace my bed, and it would truly be like old times." The King's reminiscing of his days of rebellion with Eddard Stark was cut short when the two Kingsguard entered the tent, sword raised and looking for targets.

"Are you hurt, Your Grace?" the one named Trant asked, when he realized no danger remained.

"No, I'm not bloody hurt," the King muttered, grabbing the pitcher of wine from the table and imbibing deeply. "No thanks to you useless fools. Are the savages dead?"

"Most, Your Grace," The shorter Kingsguard answered. "The rest took off running back into the Wolfswood."

"Is my family safe?"

"Yes, Your Grace. They never got close to them."

"How many dead?" The King asked, taking a seat.

"A handful, Your Grace," Trant answered. "More than that injured."

"Could have been worse, I suppose," the King replied. "Get everything packed. We're going to push on to Castle Cerwyn and get attention for the wounded. Put the majority of the guard between the woods and us. I'll have no more surprises tonight, or I'll take your empty heads myself." Robb knew it took both of the sworn swords everything they had not to let their true emotions show on their face as they exited the tent. Once they were gone, Robb turned back to the King.

"Your Grace, do I have your leave to check on my Brother and guard?"

The King merely made a shooing motion with his hand. "Yes, yes. I'll be fine." As Robb made it to the tent's entrance, the King's voice stopped him. "You did well, Robb. It's never easy killing your first man." Robb noticed the look of true understanding on the man's face.

"No, Your Grace," was all Robb could manage. The reality of the night's events hadn't truly penetrated his mind yet, though he could still feel his hands shaking slightly.

"The important thing is you didn't hesitate when it was time to kill your second."


	4. Chapter 4

While it was a great honor to play host to the King, the actual responsibility was overbearing. Robb could see the strain of it on Lord Medger Cerwyn's face as he gave instructions to his household. The Lord of House of Cerwyn was a quiet, but well-respected Northerner, whom Robb's father counted as one of his strongest bannerman. When Lord Cerwyn noticed Robb amongst the King's party, he instantly stopped what he was doing and made his way over.

"Robb Stark, I hadn't thought to see you in my keep this night," Lord Cerwyn stated, straightening his shirt. "We were deeply sorry to hear about the business with your brother. Has there been any change in his condition?"

"Not as of yet my Lord," Robb answered. "Hopefully soon."

"I mean to ride to Winterfell soon and offer your Father my sympathies as well," Lord Cerwyn promised.

"My Father would greatly enjoy your visit, as always," Robb responded.

"Yes, I believe we would have much to discuss. If what the King described is true, the wildlings are becoming bolder. We will need to make sure our borders are more heavily watched."

"There would be less such problems if the Wall was properly manned," Jon said from beside him. Robb had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, but he knew that his brother was probably right.

"Well, everything will have to be considered," Lord Cerwyn nodded. "So, what are you boys doing in the King's host?"

"The King was gracious enough to invite us to stay with his family in King's Landing," Robb stated evenly.

"Mmmhmm," Lord Cerwyn hummed. "You sure it isn't to try and lure your Father south?" At Robb's surprised look, Lord Cerwyn grinned. "I may be getting up in my years, Robb, but I can still piece things together. It was easy to see with the news of the King's arrival following so soon after the death of Jon Arryn."

"Something like that," Robb advised.

"Well I wish you great fortune in the Capital boys. I best go see that everything is settled for the night. I'll see to it that you have beds for the evening." Robb inclined his head in thanks. It did pay to be the heir to the Warden of the North at time.

Lord Cerwyn made good on his words, and Robb found himself situated in a modest room with a bed each for he and Jon. It was a Robb reached two remove his belt and sword that visions of earlier in the evening invaded his senses. He knew that if he pulled his sword from the sheath the blood of two dead men would be encrusted on it. Two dead men...dead at his hand.

"What is it?" Jon asked from his side, looking as if the night had finally caught up with him.

"I killed two wildings tonight," Robb answered, still holding the sword loosely in his palms.

Jon did not say anything at first, letting Robb's words linger. "Why did you kill them?" he asked eventually.

"They would have killed me. They would have killed the King."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Robb had to think on that question for a moment. He released on his hands from his sword and ran it through his dark-auburn hair. "I didn't enjoy the fact that I killed two men. I did feel a sense of satisfaction that I proved myself though."

"There's nothing dishonorable about that. You did your duty and protected your King."

"You're right," Robb agreed putting the sword down finally, and taking a seat on his bed. "I suppose I should get used to it. The King gets older and rounder by the day. Who knows how much longer he'll be on the throne? By his choice or another's. We've gone a long time without a war. I fear that will end soon."

"What I fear is leaving Winterfell. Seeing a pack of wildlings make it this far south without being noticed is unheard of. If they keep getting thirty or more across at a time, those numbers add up quickly. They'll terrorize the people."

"Father will handle it," Robb assured, with absolute faith in the man. "His bannermen will stand with him. "

"I hope so."

In what seemed liked no time at all they had passed the Twins and entered parts of the Kingdom that were entirely foreign to Robb. He felt like a wide-eyed child taking in his surroundings. While it was exciting to stay in the castles of various Lords whom Robb had never encountered prior, he found he enjoyed seeing the country even more. They passed through farmland and by large mills, through large trading posts and small holdfasts that were scarcely occupied. Everywhere they passed, the people came to admire the King's procession and the knights in all their glory. Even Robb found himself sitting higher on his mount as children stood as small children stood at their parent's sides and waved.

Robb's relaxed mood took a turn when he saw the first hint of the mountains of the Vale of Arryn rising imposingly towards the sky. His thoughts turned back to his Aunt and the accusation that hung over her husband's death. It made all the more real when he looked forward and saw the back of Jaime Lannister's head as he rode next to his brother, the imp. He questioned to himself whether it had been one of them to do the deed, or perhaps even the queen. From what he had seen so far of her, she certainly seemed capable of it.

They were only a day or so out from King's Landing when the King called for a halt to rest and water the horses. Robb was sure some part of him was trying to delay the inevitable return to the confinement of the Red Keep. They stopped at the God's Eye, within sight of the haunting ruins that were Harrenhall. Robb sat at the base of a tree that grew close to the edge of the God Eye's. Grey Wind lay at his feet, his eyes following the movement of Robb's hand as it drew a whetstone up and down the edges of his sword. Jon and Jory had taken the horses to a better place to drink further around the bank.

The sound of the stone moving along the sword and the steadiness of Grey Wind's breathing next to him had almost moved Robb to sleep. This was the farthest journey that he had ever made, and the march south had started to take its toll on him. However, just as his head leaned back against the tree and he began to close his eyes, a shout of warning and hooves beating a rapid pace drew his attention. Coming from the south were three riders in a tight pack. Robb stood and made his way over to where the King stood, watching as the riders approached.

"It seems my Brother and the Lord Commander have come to welcome us," Robert muttered to himself, waving off the guard that had gathered around him at the first glimpse of riders. Robb watched as the youthful form of Renly Baratheon and the older, but still imposing form of Ser Barristen Selmy brought their horses to a halt in front of the King. Robb knew little of Renly, other than that the King had granted him lordship over Storm's End, passing over their other brother Stannis, who held Dragonstone. From what Robb could tell, he seemed to be a clone of Robert, just a much younger, much healthier Robert. Renly jumped down from his horse with a flourish and approached his brother. He wore what was clearly an expensive tunic, deep green in color with the stag of House Baratheon on the breast.

"I'm not so drunk that I could not find my to the Red Keep from here, Renly," Robert called, arms crossed against his barrel of a chest.

"I was feeling very confined in the Capital," Renly stated. "When word came that you were close, I decided to go for a ride."

"Well you found us."

Renly stepped closer to Robert and placed an arm around his brother's shoulder. "There's another reason I thought it prudent to come and meet you," Renly began in a softer tone, thought not soft enough that Robb was unable to hear. "Tywin Lannister is in the Capital, and he's made himself extremely comfortable. Pycelle, Varys and Baelish have all been simpering at his heels like puppies since he arrived. It's sickening. What happened to Ned Stark keeping him out of our hair?"

"He's a damn hard-headed northerner, that's what happened. Though I did manage to pry away his boy," Robert finished, gesturing toward him.

"Robb Stark," Robb added, bowing his head in greeting.

"Ah, the Heir to Winterfell. A pleasure to meet you Lord Stark."

"You as well, my Lord."

"Come, let us get a drink and you can tell me what my scheming father-in-law has been up to since he invaded my castle." He and Renly started to walk back towards the table and chairs where Robert had previously been seated. Robb was about to go and find Jon and Jory when the King's voice stopped him. "You come as well Stark." Not wanting to disappoint, Robb quickly turned and followed the siblings.

"So," the King grunted as he took a seat. "What is the great Tywin Lannister up to?"

"Mostly making himself at home," Renly responded, grabbing a cup of wine from the nearby table. "He's already installed himself in the Tower of the Hand, and he's called several small council meetings. Honestly, you haven't even formally appointed him to the position, but from the way he struts he believes himself to be king."

"I'll have to make sure to give him a reminder of it is whom he serves."

"Yes, well he also brought along three hundred of his own men with him. As if there were not enough Lannisters already in King's Landing."

"One Lannister anywhere is too many Lannisters."

Renly snorted. "You forget brother, you're married to one and have three Lannister children."

"Oh I haven't forgotten, no matter how much I'd like it. Cersei's done a fine job turning the children against me as well. The Gods, if only Lyanna had lived," Robert sighed longingly. "The world is not fair."

"Speaking of not fair, I was sorry to hear of your brother's fall, Stark. I pray to the Gods that he makes a swift recovery," Renly responded.

"As do I, my Lord."

"So, Robert, now that your are back, what plans do you have? Lord Tywin is dead set against any sort of celebration for his elevation in position."

"Well he'll just have to deal with it. I want to hold a tournament, and that's what I mean to do. The Hand serves at the pleasure of the King. Holding a tourney is what would please me, among other things, so that's what we'll fucking do. On top of that, he can pay for the damn thing."

"I may think him a complete, humorless, bore, but as soon as Ned Stark refused you, you should have written to Stannis and asked him to be Hand," Renly chastised his brother. "I have a feeling filling King's Landing with Lannisters is inviting trouble."

"Has there been any word from that frustrating man we call, brother?" Robert asked, sternly. "Jon Arryn dies, and suddenly my Master of Ships is sailing back to Dragonstone for who knows what reason. I'll never understand him. When he's needed most he leaves."

Robb listened as the brothers went on about the many faults of Stannis Baratheon, but Robb's mind was trying to reason for itself why someone like Stannis Baratheon would abruptly leave the Capital. His Father respected Stannis, even if his personality left something to be desired. Stannis was an experienced fighter, and would not retreat to his home on Dragonstone without a reason. It was too much of a coincidence that he chose to leave so soon after the Hand's death. Lysa Arryn's accusations echoed once again through his head. Was it possible that Stannis knew the truth as well? But why would he leave his brother, his King, alone, practically dangling in the jaws of enemies?

Renly, who had seemingly shifted the conversation to a new topic, brought Robb out his ponderings. "So Stark, since Robert usually gets his way, do you mean to compete in the tourney?"

"Aye, I do," Robb answered.

"Splendid. It's about time we had some new blood at these things. Thoros waving his flaming sword around lost its allure years ago."

"Do _you_ compete, Lord Renly?" Robb asked.

"I do. I've never done particularly well, but then again it's hard to live up to expectations when your eldest Brother is King, and successfully drove the Targaryens out of Westeros. I tend to enjoy the festivities and feasts more than the fighting actually. King's Landing is just dreary most days."

"Stop putting the boy off, Renly. He hasn't even stepped foot in the place yet, let him make up his own damn mind about how horrible it is," Robert exclaimed.

"I'd say it would be better to lower expectations. That way there's no sense of disappointment the first time he takes a walk through Flea Bottom."

"I'll not have the boy walking through Flea Bottom," the King stated. "I promised Ned I'd look after him, not have him traipsing through the filth of the Capital. Anyway, the boy's already proved to be useful. Since Stannis is gone and Jon is dead, I'll need another set of loyal ears on the Small Council. I mean for young Robb here to attend the meetings as my representative, when I'm otherwise occupied."

"Which is quite frequently," Renly quipped, his words directed into his wine cup.

Robb simply sat in surprise. Being allowed to sit in the King's Small Council meetings was a great privilege, even if it was because the King found them boring. He also knew it would be a invaluable experience, considering one day it would be his responsibility to deal with the politics of managing the North. In reality, it also meant he was being placed even more deeply into center of whatever plots were stirring in the Capital.

"You should send a raven to father when we reach King's Landing," Jon advised from where he rode at Robb's side. "He'll want to know that you'll be so close with the King and his advisors."

"I agree with Jon, my Lord," Jory added. "You should send back as much information to him as you can without drawing suspicion. If it ever came to it, it would take Lord Eddard time to call on his bannermen. The North is not a small place."

"I'll keep him informed, but I also won't worry him needlessly," Robb warned. "Word reaches the Capital that Father is gathering men, and we may force someone's hand. We need to be smart about this."

"Agreed, my Lord," Jory conceded. "It may also be safer if you allow me to send your messages. I'll likely be less noticeable. Could be that I'm simply sending messages home to my family, no one would be the wiser."

They rode on until finally Robb got his first glimpse of his new home for the foreseeable future. The walls of King's Landing were tall and solid, lined with towers. From a distance, the place was impressive, but as the King's party got closer, the reality of what the Capital was became clearer. Men, women, and children, all dressed in rags and bone thin, were living in squalor directly outside the walls and gates of the city. The putrid smell of death and human waste immediately invaded Robb's nostrils, causing him to fight the urge to be sick. He did not know if it was because he had been sheltered living in the North, or whether his Father was that much more competent of ruler, but he had never seen anything like what was in front of him.

"If this is what it looks like on the outside, I don't know if I desire to go _inside_," Jon said from beside him, his forearm raised against his nose, trying to block the stench.

Instead of going into the first gate they came to, the procession swung around, parallel with the city walls and continued to circle around, heading south. Eventually they were forced to stop as they reached the harbor that served as the southern border of the city. There, waiting to escort them was a contingent of the gold-clad city watch. They were led through what Robb later learned was the King's Gate and into the city proper. When they were through, Robb did not know where to look first. The city was full of so many moving parts, and so many people. The city watch lined the street, providing a clear path for the King and his party. He did not know what sort of reaction he had expected from the inhabitants of the city, but many were clearly indifferent to their King's return. They seemed to be more worried about the large wolves that paced behind Robb and Jon.

Continuing on along the southern wall, they passed through an impressive fish market. The smell of the filth was quickly mixed with that of rotting sea creatures of all kinds. Sea captains and sailors lined the street, selling their goods. Many of them were clearly not from Westeros. Robb had been so busy taking in the sights, that he was surprised to find himself in front of the Red Keep, the seat of the King. A gathering waited inside the walls of the Red Keep, and at the head of it stood a tall, imposing figure. He had clearly thinned blond hair on the top of his head and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a tunic of red and gold, with the lion of House Lannister clearly stitched. Tywin Lannister looked every bit the part his reputation made him out to be.

Robb watched as the new Hand of the King greeted his daughter, sons, and grandchildren. He had expected the King to approach as well, but Robert Baratheon acted as if the man was not present at all, and made for his chambers. Robb slipped from his horse, and ran an appreciative hand over the beast's mane.

"My Lord," Jory called, from behind him. Robb turned and saw the head of the Stark guard standing beside a steward. "Your rooms will be in the Maidenvault. I've already seen that your things are sent there. This man will lead us down."

"Thank you, Jory," Robb responded. The steward turned to lead them, but a voice stopped Robb before he could follow. He looked back and saw two men approaching. The man on the left was thin, with black hair that had streaks of gray. The other man had a large belly, and was completely bald, dressed in a robe of purple silk. This was the first man who spoke.

"Lord Stark, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have to say we were most surprised when we heard that it was you and not Lord Eddard that would be coming, but it is honor to have you hear as well. I am Varys, the King's Master of Whisperers."

"It's an honor to meet you," Robb said, nodding his head.

"Yes, quite the honor," the other man said in a smooth voice. "Just be cautious of your secrets, because Varys here does his best to make sure he knows everyone's."

"And you don't, Lord Baelish?" Varys questioned.

"Baelish?" Robb asked the man, recognizing the name.

"Yes, Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger to my friends. I'm sure your Mother must have mentioned my name over the years. I grew up with her in Riverrun. I must say you favor her very much in appearance."

"She _has_ mentioned you, Lord Baelish," Robb confirmed. Though he would not say that his Father had mentioned Baelish as well, and the story of his Uncle Brandon permanently scarring the man.

"If you write to her, be sure to send my regards, and let her know that I promise to make sure her son is well taken care of while he's here," Baelish grinned.

Robb hoped that those words would comfort his Mother, because they did nothing for him. For some reason, these two men terrified him.


	5. Chapter 5

King's Landing was different. The climate, the people, the food, everything was different and Robb was doing his best to acclimate to it. After spending the majority of his life having to wear layers of furs to stop from freezing, walking around the around the ramparts of the Red Keep in a simple surcoat was actually a pleasant experience. Getting used to the people in King's Landing was a different matter. Everyone in the Red Keep, from the lowliest of servants to the highest of highborn, exuded a sense of vanity and falseness that was palpable. They dressed in expensive silks and styled their hair in glaring fashions. Robb had decided to let his beard grow out as a reminder to himself that he belonged in the hardy north and not in this place of extravagance encased in a city of squalor.

The feast the previous night to welcome home the King and celebrate the appointment of his new Hand had been a relatively tame affair. The King had made the brief announcement and then dinner was served. The food had been different than what Robb was used to in Winterfell, different but not bad. Given Robb's status as heir to the North, he had been afforded a seat at the King's table. Jon and Jory had been seated at a lower table, but Robb had luckily been seated next to Renly. The King's brother had been more than willing to counsel Robb on the ins and outs of the Capital, primarily because it also meant that he was able to avoid conversing with the Lannisters. Renly had been a wealth of useful information, but given who his brother was, Robb was unsurprised when the youngest Baratheon had also informed him of where the cleanest and most _discrete_ brothels were located in King's Landing.

The rest of the evening had gone by quickly, meeting people whom he was sure he was likely to forget, before he finally retired back to his room. He had been pleasantly surprised with the quarters had been given. They were smaller than his ones in Winterfell, but still comfortable. He had a large feather bed, dining table, and a writing desk. Jon's room was much the same, just smaller in size. Even though the room had been high quality, Robb had slept fitfully in his new surroundings. That was the reason he found himself standing on the eastern wall of the Red Keep in the early morning light, staring out into a seemingly endless stretch of sea.

"If you're having trouble sleeping, you should try wine before bed." Robb turned from his perch to see the stunted form of Tyrion Lannister leaning casually with one shoulder against the ramparts.

"I suppose you would be the expert on wine, Lannister," Robb commented, turning to face the man.

"Among other pleasurable distractions," Tyrion smirked.

"I have to say I'm surprised you're even upright at this early hour, especially the morning after a feast. I don't think I saw you able to walk straight a single day you were in Winterfell."

Tyrion laughed. "Yes, well your northern whores proved to be quite vigorous. As to the early hour, unfortunately, now that my Father has been named Hand of the King, the prospects for fun and debauchery in the Capital have decreased significantly... at least for me."

"Lord Tywin's not a fan of your lifestyle, I take it?" Robb asked.

"Less a fan of my existence, truth be told," Tyrion mused, nonplussed. "It is a shame we don't have the luxury of choosing our fathers and sons. The Seven are cruel in that way."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"Yes, you pray to the trees, not to the Seven."

"And I've never found the old gods to be cruel, only people."

"Hmmm, it is a little early for conversations on religious philosophy, so we should set aside another time to delve deeper, Stark. Now however, there is a plate of crisp bacon calling to me. Have a good day Stark."

"You as well Lannister," Robb called to man's retreating back. Robb looked back out to the rough seas and laughed that he had just seemingly had a relatively normal conversation with Tyrion Lannister.

The small council chambers were already occupied when Robb entered later that morning, but only by the elderly form of Grand Maester Pycelle. Robb walked in slowly, the steps of his boots echoing off the walls and alerting the old man to his presence.

"Ah, young Lord Stark. The King made us aware that you would be joining us."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Grand Maester," Robb bowed, respectful of the man's position.

"I trust your time here will be very informative. We ourselves are just getting used to the new leadership of Lord Tywin as Hand of the King."

"I understand," Robb stated. "My Father was deeply saddened to the news of Lord Arryn's death. Was it you who tended to him?"

"It was," Pycelle nodded. "Unfortunately there was little I could do for the poor man. His affliction was unforgiving and took him quickly."

"There had not been any previous signs that something was affecting him?" Robb pressed.

"No, not at all. As a matter of fact, Lord Arryn was quite busy at the time of his death. He was researching something out of a book that he borrowed from me just before he died. There was nothing that would point to any existing illness."

"Just unfortunate luck, I suppose," Robb conceded, though he in no way believed that. It sounded much more like Jon Arryn was pursuing something that someone was not eager for him to know. The question was whether Pycelle was involved, and Robb was not eager to ask any more questions that could not be explained away as simple curiosity. Any further conversation with the Grand Maester was halted however, by the arrival of the remainder of the small council.

"Welcome, Lord Stark," Tywin Lannister greeted as he took a seat at the head of the table. "I trust you'll take sufficient notes for his Grace, as he will not be joining us."

"I will, Lord Tywin," Robb replied.

"Excellent, now to the first matter for discussion. His Grace has made it known that he wishes to hold a tournament in King's Landing to honor my appointment as his Hand. I informed him that this was not necessary, but he was unmoved by my insistence."

"A tournament will be expensive, my Lord," Baelish commented. "With the cost of preparations and the purses for the champions, we are talking about a considerable amount of gold."

"Thank you for telling me something I am already aware of Baelish," Tywin responded tersely. "You've already informed me of the status of the treasury, or the lack of one as it is. I will see to it that my family contributes a sum towards the cost, though I may seek assistance from elsewhere. The King has given me the authority to name a new Master of Ships, as Stannis has apparently abandoned the post."

"I may have issues with my Brother, but he has not formally resigned the position," Renly interrupted.

"We do not have time to sit around and wait for Stannis to make formal pronouncements of his unhappiness," Twyin snapped. "With this Targaryen business rearing its head, we need a Master of Ships who is accessible and who will see to his duties. Lord Tyrell has made it known repeatedly and annoyingly that he desires a position on the council. I mean to offer him the position of Master of Ships. In appreciation for his appointment, it will be expected that Lord Tyrell contribute towards the upcoming tournament."

"So the tradition of selling council position continues," Renly smirked. The remark was clearly directed at the new Hand of the King, but Lord Tywin ignored the comment completely.

"Lord Baelish, start making arrangements for the tournament. Once we've secured Mace Tyrell's agreement and contribution everything can be finalized."

"Of course, my Lord," Baelish answered, already making notes in the book he had brought with him.

"That brings us to the more serious matter of the surviving Targaryen spawn. His Grace is obviously _eager_ to see the situation rectified. What news from Essos, Varys?" Tywin questioned, turning his attention to the bald man.

"The last word I received from my informant in Essos was that Viserys and Daenarys have begun to travel east, away from Pentos, in the company of the khalasar of Khal Drogo. It seems the Khal is in no hurry to provide Viserys with an army of Dothraki warriors," the Master of Whispers finished.

"How quickly could plans be put into motion to end the Targaryen bloodline for good this time?" Tywin pressed.

"A simple word and it would be done, my Lord," Varys responded with no doubt whatsoever in his tone.

"Then that's settled," Renly exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. "They will be dead, and my Brother can finally hear the name Targaryen without turning purple."

"Not yet," Tywin countered, to the rest of the council's surprise. "They pose no threat to us while they march further and further away from Westeros. It will take a miracle to convince those horse lovers to cross the sea. If the children have any hope of seeing Westeros again, it will be with the aid of those here, those who still secretly clamor for Targaryen rule. It would be in the best interest of the stability and future security of the Seven Kingdoms that we allow these sympathizers to reveal themselves so that they me dealt with."

"A wise course of action, my Lord," Pycelle simpered. "Treachery should be dealt with swiftly and harshly."

"Indeed," Baelish agreed.

"I will make sure that you are immediately informed with regard to any such rumors of treasonous behavior Lord Tywin," Varys promised.

"I trust you will," Tywin remarked. "I believe that is all for this meeting. I will inform you all of the time of our next gathering."

Robb couldn't say what possessed him in the next moment, but the memory of the wildling raid on the journey to King's Landing had still not left his head. He felt like he owed it to his Father, Uncle Benjen, and even Jon to say something. "If I may, my Lords?" Robb questioned, hesitantly.

The rest at the table looked at him in confusion, but Lord Tywin replied, "You may, Lord Stark."

"I understand that it is not really my place to raise matters before this council, but I feel that this matter is of real importance. On the way to King's Landing, we were set upon by a large party of wildlings. Two or three is not out of the ordinary, but such a group getting south of the Wall is extremely concerning. Something must be done before the situation gets worse. The King was almost killed in the attack."

"Is it not your Father, the Warden of the North's responsibility to see that these invaders are dealt swift justice," Baelish questioned, a condescending smirk on his face. "Is he not capable of living up to his title?"

"No man knows the North like my Father," Robb asserted strongly, staring daggers at the Master of Coin. "However, the North is large and much of it is uninhabited. The problem needs to be stopped at the source."

"So what would you have us do?" Varys questioned.

"I only ask that aid be sent to the Wall," Robb answered. "My Uncle Benjen is First Ranger of the Night's Watch and I have heard it directly from him how dire their situation is. Most of the castles along the Wall are either abandoned or in horrible disrepair. The Night's Watch needs men, builders and capable fighters, or else we could see wildlings in the Riverlands soon enough."

"I cannot force free men to abandon their lives and say vows to the Night's Watch," Lord Tywin responded. "However, I will see to it that the dungeons are scoured to see if men are available. They may not be _capable_, as you requested, but they are bodies nonetheless. Hopefully the Lord Commander can turn them into something useful."

"Thank you, Lord Tywin," Robb stated. It was not the best solution, but it was something.

"Until next time," Tywin Lannister dismissed them. The others began to push back from their seats, but before Robb had a chance, Lord Tywin signaled him to stop. "Since you are here as King Robert's representative, I would ask that you take this to his Grace for his signature. It is the letter of appointment that I drafted for Lord Tyrell. It should be on its way to him as soon as possible."

Robb reached out and grabbed the offered parchment from the Hand. "I'll see to it that it is done right away Lord Tywin."

"Excellent," Twyin answered as he rose from his chair. "Do give your Father my regards when you next correspond with him. I do believe I have him to thank for my current position." Robb watched as the imposing man glided out of the room, leaving him alone. Everything he had heard about Tywin Lannister seemed to have been correct. He was shrewd and decisive. He could have had the Targaryen's killed in an instant, but instead he was using them to draw out potential enemies. Robb doubted the man actually cared whether or not every lord and knight in the Seven Kingdoms was loyal to Robert Baratheon. Tywin Lannister's concern was born out of self-interest. His grandson would sit on the Iron Throne, and he wanted to secure his family's dominance.

Robb found the King seated at his desk in his chambers, a large tome open in front of him.

"Ah, Robb," the King acknowledged him as he made his way into the room. "Take a seat. How was your first council meeting? Long and exhausting?"

"It wasn't so bad, Your Grace," Robb stated honestly.

"Anything of note to report?"

"We discussed the preparations for the upcoming tournament, and the situation with the Targaryens. Lord Twyin means to let them live in the hope of obtaining information."

"Yes, so we discussed," the King scowled. "I'll let him play his games for now, but the moment I hear they are making preparations to return to Westeros, I'll have every assassin and sell sword in Essos falling on them."

"Lord Tywin also entrusted me with this letter of appointment for Lord Tyrell. It requires your signature," Robb advised, passing it over to the King.

"Oh yes, our new Master of Ships," Robert laughed. "It's funny how politics make you do things that make absolutely no sense at all. Mace Tyrell is one of the biggest fools in the Seven Kingdoms. The man laid siege to my home for a year during the Rebellion, but as soon a your Father showed up he couldn't bend over fast enough. It's hell making peace with your enemies." The King signed the parchment sloppily and then sealed with his sigil.

"Would you like me to have raven send that to Lord Tyrell?" Robb asked.

"No," the King said, handing out the letter for Robb to take back. "I promised you would not be sitting around here doing nothing. I want you to take that letter and deliver it to Mace Tyrell in person. What do you say? Are you up for it?"

Truthfully, the first thought that came to Robb's head was, no, he was not up for it. He had just spent weeks on the road travelling from Winterfell, and the thought of another journey on horseback was less than appealing. However, that did not mean he was going to say no. "Of course, Your Grace."

"Good. It's an easier journey down the Roseroad than the one we just made. I'll give you a handful of men to escort you. If it's any consolation, the sights in Highgarden are far more pleasing to the eye than here, if you can look passed all of those fucking flowers everywhere. Just don't let Lady Olenna dig her claws into you. That woman is vicious."

When Robb made it back to his chambers, he found Jon seated at his table perusing through the contents of a book. His Brother immediately looked up as he took the seat across from him. "So, how was your first small council meeting?"

"Not as exciting as you would think," Robb answered. "I did ask that something be done to help the situation on the Wall."

"Really?" Jon asked, clearly surprised. "And what did they say?"

"Lord Tywin said he would see if he could find prisoners to ship North. Likely he was just placating me. He probably forgot about it the moment after he said it. You'll never guess the best part of the day though."

"Oh, what's that?"

"I'm leaving for Highgarden in the morning. The King is appointing Lord Tyrell to be his new Master of Ships, and he wants me to deliver the news."

"But we just arrived," Jon stated, needlessly.

"Yes, I'm aware," Robb, sighed. "Fancy a trip to the Reach?"

"Sorry, Robb, but I think I'm going to sit this one out," Jon stated. "I've had enough travel for a while."

"So much for family loyalty," Robb joked. "What have you been keeping yourself occupied with tody?"

"Getting acclimated to the Keep for the most part. I visited the library as well, as you can tell," Jon gestured to his book. "I also ran into the Prince again. I have to say it's a good thing you are building up all of this goodwill with the King."

"Why's that?"

"Because if I'm going to be stuck here for an extended length of time, I'm going to end up throwing that little fuck over the castle's walls."

"I'm pretty sure no amount of goodwill would be able to get you out of that one," Robb advised, reaching over and pouring a cup of wine. "Just make sure you do it when no one's watching. I'll help you dispose of the corpse afterwards."


	6. Chapter 6

The King had been right when he told Robb it would be a better journey along the Roseroad to Highgarden. There were long stretches of grassy fields in all directions, and they passed through numerous orchards with fruit like none Robb had ever seen. Simply put, the lands of the Reach were vast and beautiful. Robb genuinely enjoyed the journey, and set his horse on a casual pace.

Jon had kept true to his word and remained in the Red Keep, but Jory had been obliged to make the journey with his charge. The five Baratheon men that King Robert had promised accompanied them as well, the crowned stag banner flying along, held by the lead rider. Even though their party moved at a relatively slow pace, they still reached Highgarden in less than three days. They had followed the waters of the Mander until they came upon their intended destination. Robb's first thought at seeing the castle of the Tyrells was that it certainly wasn't conventional by any means.

Highgarden was a castle of gleaming white stone sat upon a hill, with all manner of greenery surrounding it. Ivy grew heavily on the walls, and inside the outermost of Highgarden's three walls was a maze of hedges. The thought of ever trying to lead an attacking army inside of the walls was something Robb could barely comprehend. Invaders would be slaughtered from a hail of arrows from the many towers capped in gold while they tried to navigate through the natural hindrance. It may have been beautiful to look at, but Robb had no intention of spending the rest of the day lost in it. Luckily, several guards wearing full steel plate armor and holding shields bearing the golden rose of House Tyrell were standing sentry at the entrance to the outermost wall.

"Who goes there, bearing the sigil of the King?" one of the guards asked, placing a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"My name is Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I come on behalf his Grace, King Robert Baratheon with a message for your Lord, Mace Tyrell. If it would not be too much trouble, we would request an escort to the keep."

"Of course my Lord," the guard bowed his head respectfully. The man disappeared for a moment behind the gate before reappearing on horseback. "Please follow me, my Lord." And so began their winding, weaving journey through the hedges. It did not take them long before they made it through the second gate and finally into the castle proper, as the man leading them knew exactly where he was going. As they got deeper and deeper into Highgarden, the extravagance seemed to keep increasing. There were flowers of every imaginable type and color, fountains and sculptures everywhere. Men and women sat of exquisitely carved stone benches, wearing colorful frocks and sipping cups of deep red wine. After being in King's Landing, Robb felt like he had rode into a different world.

The guard who had led them into Highgarden told them to wait in the courtyard outside of the keep, and then he disappeared inside. Those wandering around the castle looked at them in interest, but for the most part continued on with whatever they were doing. After sliding off of his mount, he shook out the stiffness in his legs and continued to admire the splendor of the Tyrells' abode. His attention was quickly drawn away when he saw their guide reappear, but he was not alone. Next to him stood a clearly highborn man, likely ten or more years older then Robb. The man sported closely cropped head of brown hair and beard more tamed than Robb's own. At first glance, the newcomer seemed to be in fine condition, but then Robb noticed the cane in his right hand and the significant limps as he walked. Not wanting to force him to walk further, Robb quickly to close the distance.

"Greetings, Robb Stark. I welcome you to Highgarden," the man offered, sincerely.

"Thank you," Robb responded. "I'm afraid you have me at a loss."

"My apologies. I am Willas Tyrell, son of Mace Tyrell and heir to Highgarden."

"A pleasure to meet you, my Lord."

"Willas is fine," he added. "May I call you Robb?"

"You may."

"Excellent. My guardsman informed me that you were here representing the King with a message for my Father."

"That's right," Robb answered, pulling out the sealed letter.

"Robb, I am sorry to say that my Father is not in the castle at this moment. He and my brothers were on their way to Horn Hill to settle a dispute between Lord Tarly and Lord Beesbury. I don't suppose you could leave the message with me?"

"I apologize, but I'd rather not," Robb explained. "The message is of great significance, and I'd see it directly into your Father's hand."

"Of course, no apology necessary, Robb," Willas assured. "My Father only just left actually. I will send riders to try and intercept him. Hopefully they have not made it too far. I'm sure my brothers can continue on and see to our bannermens' quarrel."

"That would be greatly appreciated Willas," Robb stated.

"Why don't you have your men see your horses to the stables, and I'll have someone lead you to where you can rest and wait for news of my Father's arrival?"

Robb looked back at Jory who nodded. "Go on, my Lord. We'll be fine."

"Lessa," Willas called. Behind him, a young woman wearing a simple dress in Tyrell green appeared, hands folded together in front of her. "Lessa, please escort Lord Stark out to the courtyard in the east gardens and see to it that has proper refreshments." The girl nodded, and Willas turned back to Robb. "I will let you know as soon as I have any word."

"Thank you," Robb responded, and watched as Willas began to limp away.

"If you'll follow me m'lord," Lessa prompted.

They took a casual pace through the keep that enabled Robb to take in all of his surroundings. Unsurprisingly, the inside of the keep was just as picturesque as the outside. There were fine paintings and tapestries that littered the walls, all extremely lively and colorful. Robb barely noticed as they exited the keep through a door and walked into a large garden. At the center stood a great canopy, which provided shade for the carved table and chairs that sat beneath it. Lessa led him over and he took a seat in a plush, cushioned chair. He felt as if his body had sunk into a cloud.

"There is wine on the table m'lord, but I can bring you something else if you would prefer it," Lessa informed him.

"Wine is perfect, thank you Lessa."

"I will have the kitchens prepare you something to eat then." Before Robb had a chance to respond to her, the serving girl had curtseyed and was headed back to the keep. Robb reached for the pitcher of Arbor gold and poured a cup. He drank deeply and savored the quality of the liquid. Leaning his head back against the chair, he sighed in contentment, fully enjoying his beverage and surroundings. The air was clean, with sweetness to it from the ample flowers. He was so lost in the contentment of his surroundings that he failed to notice that he was no longer alone.

"Are you enjoying the gardens?"

Robb had just brought his wine cup to his lips to drink, but at the sudden sound of the voice, he flinched and spilled some of the golden liquid down his front. He grabbed a cloth off the table and moved hastily to wipe off his doublet. A soft burst of laughter averted his attention back to the new presence. Robb looked to his left, towards the pleasant sound, and as he did felt like all of the air disappeared from his lungs. The flowers in Highgarden were clearly not the only beautiful things. The young woman standing before him looked to be of a similar age, with long, golden-brown hair that was slightly curled. She wore a sleeveless dress of green, trimmed in golden lace, and it certainly revealed more flawless tanned skin than what he was used to seeing in the North. Her brown eyes were bright, and her lips were quirked to the side in a playful smirk.

Robb, who had been lost briefly in his admiration for this girl, realized that he was neglecting his manners, and rose from his chair. His Mother would have had stern words for him if she knew Robb had not stood up in the presence of a lady. However, once he had, he felt like a complete fool, in the middle of an extravagant garden, lost for words. Finally, he reminded himself that he was not a child and was the heir to one of the most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Beautiful," Robb stated.

"Excuse me?" the girl asked in confusion.

"The flowers. Their beautiful."

"Oh," she frowned, exaggeratedly. "I thought you had meant that I was beautiful."

"Oh, _you are_," Robb responded quickly, walking closer to her. "It's just that I don't even know your name, my lady. It would be horribly forward of me say such a thing."

"Well, I shall have to enlighten you then. My name is Margaery Tyrell."

"Lord Tyrell's daughter?"

"I am," she nodded. "And I don't think I have ever seen you lounging in the gardens of the castle before. You would not happen to have something to do with the whispers I only just heard about messengers arriving from the King?"

"I would my lady," Robb confirmed. "I come bearing a message for your Father on behalf of his Grace."

"You do not look much like a messenger, if I may say so."

"I think I should take that as a compliment, but I am not certain," Robb laughed. "And you're correct, I am not normally a messenger, but as my Father advised me, it is not easy to say no when a King asks you to do something."

"And your Father is..."

"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell," Robb finished for her. "I am his eldest son and heir, Robb Stark."

"You are a long way from home, Robb Stark."

He nodded. "Aye, I am, my lady. But if I have to be away from Winterfell, I cannot think of a better place to be than where I am now."

"Is that due to the scenery or the company?"

"The scenery is nice, but the company is infinitely better," Robb smiled.

"Would you mind if I joined you then, Robb? It's not often we get Northerners this far south, and you should not have to sit out here alone. I could not allow my family to be associated with such poor hospitality."

"I would be honored if you joined me my lady." Robb led them back to the courtyard table and pulled a chair out for her. It was as he stood behind her that he noticed her dress was just as short on fabric in the back, revealing even more of her flawless skin. Robb had to restrain himself from accidentally letting his fingers brush across it. Somehow his resolve held strong and he managed to seat himself next to her without acting inappropriately.

"Wine?" Robb asked, reaching for pitcher.

"Yes, please." Robb poured the golden liquid into another cup and passed it over to Margaery. "So Robb, if I may be so bold, what business does the King have with my Father?"

"As I told your Brother when he welcomed me, my lady, I would not feel right giving the message to anyone but your Father."

"Yes, but is my Brother as charming as I am?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes and giving him her most radiant, overstated smile.

"I found your Brother to be quite charming, my lady, however, not nearly as charming as you."

"Oh good," she exclaimed, scooting herself to edge of her chair, as if expecting Robb to start divulging secrets. "I love my Father, and I don't mean to speak badly of him, but I'm fearful his ambitious nature tends to blind him. I would hate to see him be used."

"I'm afraid that's the nature of the Kingdom we live in, my lady, as much we may wish it were not so." Robb commented, looking down and swirling the wine in his cup. Being used was the exact reason he now found himself to be a resident of King's Landing.

"I know," she sighed.

He knew he was acting like a besotted fool, but he could see no harm in telling her the news. It would be out by the end of the day. "The King means to appoint your Father to his Small Council as Master of Ships in place of Lord Stannis who has seemingly abandoned the position."

"My Father? Master of Ships? I'm not certain my Father could tell a fishing boat from a warship," Margeary exclaimed.

"As you said, my lady, there are often other agendas behind certain actions."

"Ones that rely on Tyrell gold?" Margeary questioned, although it was clearly rhetorical.

"For my own safety Lady Margeary, it's probably best I not answer that."

"Of course," she said, understandingly. "I would not wish to see you in any trouble over the courtesy you've done me. In fact, since you have been so kind, will you allow me to show you something? I believe it would be of great interest to you."

"I don't see how I could refuse such an offer," Robb answered. Taking a walk with Margaery Tyrell seemed like a much better use of his time while he waited for her Father, than sitting by himself in a garden.

Margaery stood from her chair and looked at Robb expectantly. He did not keep her waiting long. Showing that she was certainty not shy, she reached out and threaded her arm through Robb's and began leading him. He barely noticed their surroundings as they walked, his attention equally divided by enjoying their close proximity and also making sure he did not make a fool of himself by treading on Margaery's dress. They wound their way through passages and corridors until finally they arrived in the middle of a small wooded area, which lacked the colorful growth prevalent through the rest of Highgarden.

"Since your family are descendants of the First Men, I thought that you would be interested in seeing those," Margaery stated, directing Robb's attention to the right. He instantly knew that this place was Highgarden's godswood, as standing before him were three great weirwoods. They were so close together that their branches had met, giving the impression that there was just one large weirwood. Robb reluctantly let go of Margaery's arm and walked closer to the trees. He reached out and ran his hand slowly over the white bark.

"Some people have a distaste for them, but I think their beautiful in their own way, even if I don't pray to the Northern gods," Margaery commented.

"They truly are," Robb responded, still holding his hand against the wood. Just touching by touching it, he would swear he could hear the sounds of Wintefell in his ears. He got lost it them, hoping that one of the sounds would be Bran's voice, proof that his Brother still lived. The fact that Bran could wake and find Robb not there, as if he did not care, was painful to him. He only hoped Bran would understand that it was not truly Robb's choice.

"Are you alright?" Margaery questioned from behind him.

"Yes," he answered, finally removing his hand from the tree. "Sorry, I got lost there for a moment."

"Does something trouble you?"

"My Brother Bran was push-, I mean my Brother was climbing a tower in Winterfell and he slipped and fell," Robb quickly corrected himself. "He had not woken when it came time for me to leave for King's Landing, and I still have no word on his condition. I worry for him."

"I am sorry to hear that. I hope you receive good news soon. You have more siblings, yes?"

"I do my lady, two younger sisters, Sansa and Arya, and two younger brothers, Bran and Rickon. I also have a half-brother named Jon. He traveled with me to King's Landing, but was too worn to make the journey here. And you, my lady? I met Willas, but he said others were travelling with your Father."

"Two others," Margaery confirmed. "Garlan and Loras. Both are excellent swordsman. Willas was just as good before he was injured at tourney. Now instead of swords, he spends all day with his books. He'll make an excellent Lord of Highgarden one day. I think he is Grandmother's favorite as well."

"The King warned me of your Grandmother," Robb confessed. "He seemed quite intimidated by her."

Margaery laughed heartily. "My Grandmother is one of a kind. She is not like other ladies, who believe it is their duty to remain meek and silent. She is not afraid to speak her mind to _anyone_. I've seen her bring powerful men to tears. She has thoroughly earned her title Queen of Thorns."

"I have to say, if everything you say is true, than I am quite intimidated as well," Robb stated.

"Don't fear," Margaery urged, "I think my Grandmother will be very kind to you. I've always heard her speak highly of your family."

"Well that is a relief."

"You will see her tonight, I'm sure. There is sure to be a large feast once my Father hears the news."

"And what news _is_ that?" Robb looked back towards the entrance that had brought them into the godswood. There stood Willas, looking at them expectantly. "I should have guessed when you were not in the gardens, that my Sister had managed to spirit you away somewhere."

"Lady Margaery offered to show me your impressive godswood. It is hard to say no to someone as lovely as your Sister," Robb commented. He noticed as Margaery beamed at his compliment

"Something that my Sister is _well _aware of, and not the least bit hesitant to take advantage of," Willas joked. "I think she has the castle wrapped around her finger."

"Don't be mean, Willas," Margaery chided.

"My apologies," Willas stated, though without any conviction. "Now Sister, I am going to have to steal Lord Stark away from you. Father should be back within the hour."

"If you must," Margaery sighed.

Robb stepped forward and took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. "Thank you for keeping me company, my lady. I hope I will see you again before I leave."

"I am sure of it."


	7. Chapter 7

"I always knew it was just a matter of time before the King would see fit to raise me up to a position befitting my skills and experience," Mace Tyrell boasted from the Lord's Table in Highgarden's great hall. Ever since Robb had handed him the King's sealed letter, Lord Tyrell had been unstoppable in his self-congratulations. He had managed to organize the largest and most lavish feast Robb had ever seen in just a matter of hours. Singers and performers were dispersed throughout the hall, entertaining those in attendance. Servants brought out platters laden with every type of food one could imagine.

Seeing as he had been the bearer of the good news, Robb was invited to sit at the Lord's Table. He had been pleased to find the chair next to Margaery vacant when he entered the hall, dressed in his finest garments, which he had brought along just in case such a formal occasion arose. Although the clothes were stiff, he did like the direwolf proudly emblazoned on his chest. He had hesitated only briefly before stealing the seat beside Lord Tyrell's daughter. However, before he had a chance to say a single word to Lady Margaery, a small elderly woman with white hair quickly took the seat on his other side.

Lady Olenna Redwyne looked as if she would have liked to be anywhere other than watching her son make a spectacle of himself. She looked around the room in distaste several times before her attention finally settled on Robb.

"So, I believe we have _you_ to thank for bringing the _wonderful_ news of my son's elevation," the Lady spoke to him, obvious scorn invading her tone, even though a smile adorned her face.

"It was, my lady," Robb responded. "I don't be believe we have been properly introduced, I am-"

"There is no need for such," the lady interrupted. "Your look and manner scream northeman and Stark, and I hope you don't think me too arrogant, but my own reputation tends to precede me."

"It does, my lady," Robb responded.

"Yes, well, when you are woman not afraid to tell a simpering lord the way of things, you end up with the name Queen of Thorns. You don't look like one of those simpering lords, though."

"There is no time for _simpering_ in the north, my lady. Life is somewhat more harsh than this," Robb gestured to the hall's extravagant display.

"I imagine so. I'll admit our way of life is a touch more refined than what you're used to."

Robb instantly frowned at her words. "We aren't beasts, Lady Olenna. We may be a heartier people, but I would say we're plenty refined."

"Oh, don't be so cross, boy."

"Grandmother..." Margaery exasperatedly cautioned from his other side.

"Don't worry dear, I meant no offense to the young man. I have great respect for Lord Eddard, just as I did for _his_ father, the poor man. There's no finer a House in the Seven Kingdoms than the Starks."

"Thank you, my lady. No offense was taken," Robb responded, letting his irritation dissipate.

"I do have to say, you could have come simply to get a taste of the pleasures of Highgarden. There truly wasn't a need to bring troublesome news of royal appointments for my son."

"Troublesome?"

"Yes," the lady began, before stopping to take a swig of wine from her cup. While I enjoy politics and vigorous debate as much as the next person, I would have preferred avoiding King's Landing," Lady Olenna explained. "My son may believe himself to be the Lord of Highgarden, but I'm the one who sees to the management of the Castle. I want to make sure there is something left for my grandchildren to proud of when we're gone. Now I'm going to have follow my son to the capital to keep him out of trouble... and from letting the Lannisters bankrupt us."

"I apologize I wasn't able to bring better tidings, my lady."

"Oh, I don't blame you for someone else's foolishness. It's why decorum and honor says not to kill a messenger. Torture them a bit, maybe, but don't kill them," she laughed at the incredulous look on Robb's face. Luckily he was saved from saying anything further when Margaery rose from her seat next to him.

"I believe my grandmother has had enough fun at your expense for the moment, Robb. Would you favor me with a dance?" she asked, brightly.

Not needing much encouragement to be closer to the exceedingly beautiful woman, Robb practically flew from his seat. "It would be _my_ honor, Lady Margaery." He offered his arm, which Margaery quickly threaded her won through, and they stepped down from the slightly raised dais on which the Lord's Table sat. A troupe of musicians were seated to the left side of the hall, and dining tables had been positioned to allow for dancing. A few other couples were already swaying to sound of the soft music from the string players.

Robb and Margaery inserted themselves into the crowd and reached for each other. He was quickly disappointed as he realized that she had changed her dress from earlier, the one that had that free to the air the large swathe of flawless feminine back. Still, he found counted himself lucky as his hands found their way to the curve of her hips, as hers simultaneously when to his neck. Chills went down his spine when the soft skin on her fingers accidentally brushed against the hair at the base of his neck. He barely realized that they had started moving until she spoke to him.

"I'm sorry about my grandmother," she sighed. "I admire that she is not afraid to speak her mind, but there _are_ limits on what counts as appropriate conversation."

"It's no concern," Robb assured. "I know it is mostly out of concern for her family. I could never fault anyone over that."

"I think you did a wonderful job of not letting her get under your skin. She has a history of driving lesser men into a murderous rage."

"Most people who are not from the North tend not to understand why we have such pride in our homes," Robb explained. "Some might not find vast stretches of ice and snow covered woods beautiful, but we do. Part of it is because we have an understanding and great respect for how dangerous a Northern winter can be. It's even in my House's words. _Winter is coming._"

"And are your words true?" Margaery asked. "They say winter is truly coming soon."

"It feels that way," Robb answered. "And it's not just the chill in the air that speaks to it, there have been other signs as well. On our journey from Winterfell to King's Landing, we were attacked by a large party of wildlings. Seeing so many coming south is troubling."

"What's to stop them from coming here?"

"The Night's Watch, ideally," Robb told her in a voice lacking confidence. "And if the Night Watch is not up to it, then it falls to my father as Warden of the North."

"Well I know, if a Stark has a duty, than the job will be done properly," Margaery smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the hall's soft light.

Robb couldn't stop his own foolishly large smile that stretched across his face. "Well I know something too, and that is whether in the North or South, no one can deny the beauty of southern ladies."

"You are trying to flatter me Lord Robb," Margaery laughed.

"Is it working?"

"_Very_ well. I hope someday I can visit your home as well," she added. "Though, maybe after winter has ended."

"I won't hold it against you for delaying your trip," Robb promised.

They danced for one more song in silence, simply enjoying their proximity and the skill of the musicians, which was impressive. Robb was so lost in the moment that he barely registered someone tapping his shoulder. He looked back and saw Margaery's father standing behind him expectantly.

"I hope you'll excuse me, Stark, but I'd like a dance with my daughter. It's not everyday she'll get a chance to dance with the King's new Master of Ships," Mace Tyrell gloated.

Feeling compelled, Robb stepped back and allowed the man to take his previous position. Robb grudgingly made his way back to the table, and to his seat next to Lady Olenna. He had barely sat down and reached for his cup before she spoke again.

"She's a real beauty, is she not?"

Knowing exactly whom she was referring to Robb nodded. "There aren't enough words to describe her beauty, my lady."

"Hmm, it is a shame that she's about to be turned into a political pawn."

Robb frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that my son intends to bring her with him to King's Landing. And seeing as the current heir to the throne is unattached..." she trailed off.

"He means to make her a queen," Robb finished for her.

"Yes. And there is little chance that the King will say no. Highgarden has wealth and military strength. He will see it as a convenient way to strengthen ties and a way to finance his drunken debauchery."

"You don't wish to see your own granddaughter become queen one day?" Robb questioned, though the prospect of that reality pained him.

"Of course I would love to see Margaery become queen, and I know a part of her would as well. However, I would not have it be at the expense of her happiness and safety."

Robb laughed, darkly. "I don't know if you've ever had the opportunity to meet our beloved prince my lady, but I doubt she would be happy _or _safe with him. Frankly he's a spoiled piece of filth. If one day he becomes king, there won't be enough unpleasant monikers to add to his title."

"Normally, I would say your concerns were born out of lust for my granddaughter, but I have had other sources attest to his cruelty. They say there is more Lannister in him than Baratheon. You cannot trust a Lannister as far as you can throw one. Tell me, rumor has it something happened to your sibling while the King's party was at Winterfell. Is that true?"

"My little brother fell from a tower, and has yet to wake as far as I know."

"Fell?"

"Fell, unless he wakes and speaks differently. There were no witnesses to the incident," Robb elaborated.

"Let us hope he does wake soon then," the Queen of Thorns frowned. "Although, just a few words have the power to turn the world on its head."

Too many cups of wine, that had to be the explanation for why he had agreed the previous night to train with Ser Loras in the practice yard in the morning. Somehow the topic of the tourney in King's Landing had been raised, and Loras had inquired if Robb intended to enter. Robb should have realized it was just Loras' way of sizing up the competition, but he had been too enthralled with Loras' sister at the time too much to care. He cared much more at the moment. Loras was a complete contradiction and it served him well in a fight. He was barely older than Robb, but built smaller. His flamboyance and pretty armor made him look more showman than swordsman, but that was not the case. They had been training for barely a few minutes and Robb was already winded.

"Come on Stark, I was just warming up," Loras taunted him, clearly enjoying himself.

"As was I," Robb lied without much conviction.

"You need get closer to him," Jory whispered from his place behind him. "He likes to move about, and try to deceive you with his quickness. Step into him and give him less room to maneuver, and then overpower him."

Deciding Jory's approach was probably better than his own, Robb raised his sword and approached his opponent again. He tried to shut out the fact that there was a whole audience watching them, especially because he knew Margaery was there as well. Loras gave his sword a twirl and initiated an attack. Robb's was quickly put on defense, and as he parried the strikes his instincts told him to step back, away from the danger. However, remembering Jory's words, he swatted a way the next strike and pushed closer. The boldness of Robb's move caused Loras to misstep and temporarily lose his balance.

Robb took the chance to bring a vicious slice of his sword down towards the knight's shoulder. Somehow Loras managed to right his feet and bring his own sword high to block, but their blades were locked. Robb pushed every ounce of strength he had into his arms, trying hammer Loras into the ground. When he realized that the prospect wasn't likely to happen, he again used their proximity to his advantage, stepping behind Loras and sweeping his legs from beneath him. Loras fell backwards quickly, his arms splayed widely and leaving him defenseless. Robb took the chance to place the point of his sword at the center of the man's throat.

"Yield?" Robb asked, trying not to sound too pleased at his success.

"I yield," Loras said begrudgingly, knocking Robb's sword aside with his hand. The knight pushed himself to his feet, and held a hand out to Robb. "That was well fought, Stark. It seems they know something about fighting in the north."

"A thing or two," Robb grinned, taking the offered hand.

"It seems you've met your match, dear brother." They both turned and watched as Margaery approached, trailed by a group of other girls. She wore a dress of yellow and white, and her hair was pulled to one side.

"It was a good fight, _sister_, but it's a different matter when it comes to the tournaments," Loras stated, placing his sword back in his belt. "And we've only seen him with a sword. Let's see how well he does in the joust, where the real glory is."

"I'll leave the glory to you, Ser Loras," Robb responded. "I've not much need for it. It will be enjoyable just to compete against some formidable fighters."

"That sounds like an excuse from someone who's already accepted they won't win," Loras countered.

"Or it's just the truth, Loras," Margaery defended him.

"Of course, sister," Loras retreated. "If you'll excuse me, I mean to go clean up."

"So, care to escort me on a walk through the gardens, Robb?" Margaery asked as she stepped closer to him.

"I suppose-"

"Pardon my interruption, m'lady," Jory stepped towards them, casting an apologetic look towards Robb. "I don't mean to disappoint, but we should really be heading back for King's Landing. As lovely as Highgarden is, the other men are eager to return home. I'd have us make a good push today before nightfall."

"Unfortunately, Jory's right, my lady," Robb conceded, reluctantly. "I'm supposed to be aiding the King, and it would not be right to delay reporting back to him any longer."

Margaery just offered him an understanding smile. "Of course, Robb. I wouldn't expect anything less from you. Though, I will miss you." Jory chose that moment to fake a coughing fit and step back and give them some privacy.

"As will I, Lady Margaery," Robb answered, grabbing a hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. "Please offer my thanks to your father and brother for their hospitality. Fortunately, I don't think it will be long before we see each other again in King's Landing for the tourney."

"And I look forward to the tourney greatly. I'll even forgive you if you knock Loras on his back," Margaery whispered, conspiratorially. "Just don't tell him I said so."

"Your secret is safe with me, my lady."

Margaery offered him a final wave before calling over her shoulder, "I doubt it could be safer anywhere else." Robb stared after he until she was gone from sight, and then turned to an expectant Jory.

"Sorry Robb, didn't mean to interrupt your courtship of the young lady," Jory grinned.

"Yes, you did," Robb huffed, as they began making their way towards the stables.

"Maybe, just a wee bit," Jory confessed with grin. "You certainly aim high don't you? Wouldn't you be happier with a pretty young northern lass to warm your bed?"

"I likely would, but I just can't fathom a girl like Margaery being subjected to that Lannister piece of shit for the rest of her life."

"Unfortunately the world isn't fair, Robb. Men like Joffrey end up with women like Margaery quite frequently. There's not much to be done about it."

"We'll see," Robb grumbled. "Maybe I _will _have Grey Wind eat him. I'm sure he'd recover from the foul taste eventually."

Jory shook his head next to him. "I think when get back to King's Landing, I'm going to write Lord Stark. I mean to see if he'll accept my resignation as it looks inevitable it will become impossible to protect you."

"Don't be so dramatic, Jory. I'll give you adequate notice if I mean to do something truly stupid."


	8. Chapter 8

It had only been a matter of days, but upon Robb's return to King's Landing, he could already see that the news of a tournament had begun to spread. They had passed a stream of hedge knights, merchants and artisans on their way down the Roseroad, all clearly bound for the festivities and promise of potential glory and wealth. Outside the capital, tents, pavilions and stalls had already been erected, and swarms of people were congregating around them. Campfires were blazing and the echo of blacksmith hammers crashing into fired steel echoed in the air.

Once inside the city, Robb and Jory had been hard-pressed to manage their mounts through the teaming streets. Robb breathed a sigh of relief when he finally found himself safely enclosed within the walls of the Red Keep. He was barely off of his horse, when he noticed a blur of grey fur out of the corner of his eye. He turned and tried to stand his ground, but Grey Wind thundered into him, knocking him onto his behind. The wolf playfully nipped at him, as Robb ran his hand through his fur.

"I figured that was why he was acting so excitedly," a voice said from behind them. Robb turned and saw Jon with Ghost at his side. "I think he may have frightened half the Keep on the way here. A poor serving girl nearly through herself out of window."

"Sorry, boy," Robb said to his companion, patting the animal's head. "Next time you come along."

"How was Highgarden?" Jon inquired, making his way closer.

"It lives up to its name," Robb answered. "Very colorful, beautiful to see."

"Aye, Robb found the sights _very_ beautiful," Jory chuckled as he grabbed the reigns to Robb's mount. "I had to practically drag the poor lad away."

"What's this he's talking about Robb?"

"Nothing," Robb attempted to evade. Jory wouldn't allow it.

"Our young Robb here, found himself smitten with the young Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. Not that I can blame him, really."

"You're gone a few days and you fall in love with some southern lord's daughter? As a northerner, I'm offended," Jon, mocked.

"I'm not in love," Robb protested, feebly.

"Certainly in lust," Jory called back as he took his and Robb's horses to the stables.

"We should have left him in Winterfell," Robb grumbled. "Anyway, what kept you occupied while we were gone?"

"This place has been mad since you left, so I mainly tried to stay out of the way of it all. I did get to train with several of the knights who are here for the tourney, though," Jon explained. "You still mean to compete?"

"Aye. I think I'll take my chances in the joust or the melee, but not both. You're a fine archer, Jon, you should enter the tourney yourself."

"I don't think so," Jon declined. "I'll leave it to you claim glory for Winterfell. Or are you more concerned of showing yourself well in front of Lady Margaery?"

"There is no reason I cannot accomplish both," Robb grinned.

"Well, I'm glad _you're_ so confident. I wouldn't be so sure of myself if it was I riding against the likes of Jaime Lannister and Gregor Clegane. Have you seen that man? He's appropriately referred to as the Mountain. If I didn't know better I'd say the giants had made it south of the Wall."

"Size does not always mean victory," Robb advised.

"No, but it does make things considerably easier," Jon countered. "I suppose you must go inform the King you've returned?"

"That would probably be wise," Robb agreed. "However, I doubt he has any great need of me at the moment. I'm sure he would not mind if we went and explored the festivities for a bit. In fact, I'm almost certain he would encourage it."

"I'm sure the King would agree to _anything_ that involved drinking, fighting and eating," Jon grinned. "Oh, and don't forget the whoring."

"No, cannot forget the whores. Well, then let's take a look around the madness before this place is truly overrun."

Robb had survived on meager rations on the journey back from Highgarden, so their first objective had been to find somewhere with hot food. Luckily, that had been not hard to find. As soon as they had left the Keep, they ran into a tavern. The owner had set up a large fire out front and was turning a whole pig slowly on a spit. Robb's mouth was practically watering as the smell of cooking meat entered his nose. Makeshift tables had been erected outside using any spare boards the tavern keeper could find, which was where Robb and Jon sat themselves.

An older woman with white and grey hair tide messily back approached them immediately as they sat. "What can I get you handsome boys? We've got mead and ale…some wine as well. It's nothing fancy, but it will do the trick if your thirsty enough."

"I think we will hold off on the wine, miss, but we will have two cups of ale and two helpings of the pig," Robb requested, laying out some coin on the table.

The woman reached down, scooped up the necessary coins, and was off without another word to get their order. Soon enough, two platters of smoking pork were lying before them, and they dug into it heartily. It was nothing fancy, but Robb greatly enjoyed the feast nonetheless. After two cups of ale each, he and Jon found themselves wandering the streets once again, bellies full and spirits high.

They occasionally stopped to see a fool or troop of singers who found a secluded corner in which to perform, before they eventually found themselves walking down the Street of Steel. Robb had to fight the urge to stop and pick up every piece of finely crafted steel that they passed. Some of it was purely practical, and other pieces were so ornate that he couldn't ever imagine ever using it, other than to flaunt his wealth. Honestly, who needed a sword wrapped in gold? They were walking past one particular shop where Robb noticed a young man, probably around his own age, wiping down the blade of a newly shaped long sword. Above the man, hung a helm like none Robb had ever seen. It looked like it had been shaped into a bull's head.

"That one took me ages," the man said suddenly, surprising Robb. "Master Mott would only let me work on it on my own time. Seeing as I barely have any of my own time…"

"It's fine work," Jon said from his side.

"It is," Robb agreed. "Why the bull?"

The man shrugged. "Just struck my fancy, is all. What are lords such as yourselves doing down here if I may ask? Not too often we get highborn visitors to our shop. Though, last time it was the Hand of the King."

"Jon Arryn was here?" Robb questioned

"Yes, right before his death."

"Did he come to buy armor?"

The man shook his head. "No, he just wanted to talk. It was strange, really. He wanted to know about my mother, mostly, and asked how I was. He was really interested in me for some reason I couldn't tell you, m'lord. I'm just a common bastard from Flea Bottom."

"Maybe he was just interested in your work," Jon suggested.

"Actually, he didn't seem much attentive to it. Like I said, he really only seemed to be interested in me."

As the conversation went on with the young blacksmith, Robb could not help but feel that they had stumbled onto something significant. Why would Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, show such interest in a simple blacksmith's apprentice? Add to that, such a meeting outside the Red Keep would have been anything but secret. The second most important person in King's Landing roaming the streets would have drawn all sorts of wandering eyes… who in turn would have communicated the information to Varys or Baelish. Robb realized he had been caught in his thoughts when Jon gave him quick nudge.

"Anyway, that's about all I can tell you about the Hand. He was nice enough to me," the blacksmith explained. "M'lords wouldn't be in need of any armor would they?"

Robb's first inclination had been to decline, but then he thought again. He had no idea what was important about this man, but there was something there. This would provide an excuse to see him again, and also allay any suspicion from his and Jon's visit. "Well, I am planning on competing in the tourney, and my armor is rather close to being a relic. I suppose I could use a new set. How quickly could such a thing be ready?"

"Give me two days m'lord, and I'll make you the best armor in King's Landing."

"That's a lofty promise," Robb commented. "Do you know your houses and sigils?"

"The major ones m'lord."

"Well, my name is Robb Stark, and I'd like my House to reflected in my armor. I trust you know the Starks?"

"Of course, m'lord. Consider it done."

"It would probably help if I had your name as well," Robb stated.

"It's Gendry. m'lord."

"Well Gendry," Robb began, "for both of our sakes I think it would be wise if you didn't mention the first part of our conversation to anyone. I was just in need of some new armor, and I greatly admired your work."

"Did we speak of anything other than your purchase m'lord?" Gendry asked, clearly feigning confusion.

"Good man."

"Do you think you should send a raven to Father?" Jon asked Robb when they were out of earshot on their way back towards the Keep.

"And tell him what? All we know is Jon Arryn talked to Gendry before he died. It's certainly suspicious, but without more it doesn't mean anything."

"I think we are about to put ourselves in much more danger than we already are," Jon advised, nervously. "Just being in this place is a risk, but if we start digging…"

"We aren't going to dig, Jon. We just need to keep our ears open. It will be worth it if we figure out the fool who shoved Bran from that tower."

"I don't disagree, as long as we are quiet about it."

"It should be easier to blend in during the coming days with all of the festivities," Robb added. "Maybe with the right amount of wine, someone will spill secrets they shouldn't."

"Somehow I doubt it. These people have made an art of keeping secrets and stabbing others in the back."

The Tyrells had not wasted any time in preparing for their journey to King's Landing. Within two days of Robb's return, reports reached them that Mace Tyrell's party was making its approach. Much of the Keep had assembled outside to greet them, including the King, whom clearly did so grudgingly. In fact, most of the highborn residents of the Keep seemed to be irritated with the fact that they needed to treat Mace Tyrell with any sort of reverence.

The only person in attendance who seemed to show any measure of anticipation was Prince Joffrey, to Robb's chagrin. The Queen stood next to her son, arm laced through his own, as she occasionally whispered to him. Robb liked to think that he was so senseless that he needed constant reminders to breathe, however unlikely that was. If it was the case, he could only hope that she would forget. As he was in the middle of imagining other ways for the royal spawn to meet his demise, Robb's attention was drawn to the sound of approaching riders.

The first men into the keep were mounted Tyrell men bearing their standard, the golden rose waving in the wind. Next came Lord Tyrell himself, surrounded by his guard and several other knights who had accompanied their party. Ser Loras was among them, his armor gleaming in the daylight. At the end of the train came a large carriage, and instantly Robb found his attention drawn, anticipating who was likely inside. Sure enough, as it came to a stop and the door opened, Lady Margaery stepped down, looking more beautiful than ever in a perfectly fitted golden dress.

From the positioning of the carriage, Robb was directly in her line of sight when she disembarked. A bright smile adorned her face when she realized he was standing there, and he reciprocated. His eyes followed her even as she seemed to reluctantly make her way towards her Father who was busy exchanging pleasantries with the King.

"So that's _her_?" Jon whispered from beside him.

Robb's eyes were following the woman as she walked. "Yes, that is most definitely _her."_

"I suppose she's attractive for a southerner." Jon smirked when he saw Robb frown at him. "Or for _anywhere_ really."

Robb was about to respond again, but he was stopped by the sight of the Queen pushing her son towards Margaery, from where she now stood with her father, next to the King. He felt every muscle in his body tense as the Prince reached for Margaery's hand and place a kiss on the back of it. He could practically see the ambitious mind of Mace Tyrell working, as he planned the elevation of his family even higher. What was worse, Robb could see no objection to the match on the King's face. Unable to stand the disheartening sight any longer, Robb proceeded to make his way out of the crowd.

"Where are you going?" Jon questioned.

"I'm going to check on the state of my new armor," Robb responded as he felt Jon following slightly behind him. "Then I'm going to the practice yard to hit something hard repeatedly."

"It's brilliant." Those were the only words that came to Robb's mind as he saw Gendry's work laid out on a table. The steel shined, and on the breastplate, a direwolf had been etched beautifully. Robb picked it up and was amazed at its lightness.

"Don't let the feel deceive you, m'lord," Gendry stated. "That's the strongest armor in King's Landing."

"Well I cannot wait to put that claim to the test Gendry, but this is certainly fine work." Robb handed over a bag of coin, while he and Jon began placing the armor into sack they could attach to the horse they had brought with them.

"If you have any other need for a blacksmith, come back and I'll take care of it," Gendry promised.

"We will be sure to do so," Robb answered. "I'm certain we will see each other again."

They loaded the armor onto the horse and began the trek back. Robb was eager to try it on and to begin getting the feel for it. However, about half way back to the Keep, something began to make him feel uneasy. It felt like someone was watching him. As casually as he could, glancing out of the corner of his eye, he looked behind. Sure enough, mixed in amongst the crowd was a figure in a dark grey cloak. Although a hood shrouded their face, Robb would swear the figure's eyes were tracking his movements. Turning his head back around, Robb warned his brother. "We're being followed."

Jon looked startled. "Are you sure?"

"Not completely, but I believe so. There's a man in a grey cloak behind us."

"What do you suggest? If he is on his own, I doubt he would make a move on two of us in the open."

Robb chanced another look back to confirm the figure was still following before answering. "As you say, he appears to be on his own. Let's find out what he wants. Lead the horse down that alley there, and then hide behind the building so you are out of sight." Without any hesitation, Jon proceeded to take the horse down the dirty, poorly lit alley. There were a few empty barrels along the left side of the alley, which Robb quickly situated himself behind. Reaching to his side, he pulled a dagger and waited.

Sure enough, just seconds later, the grey-cloaked figure appeared and Robb sprung himself up and forward. The target was clearly caught off guard, and Robb forced him back into the alley wall, lifting the dagger toward their neck.

"Tell me why you're following us or I'll open your neck and paint the ground," Robb growled, applying pressure to the dagger. He could hear Jon making his way back around the corner and draw his sword.

When the figure did not answer right away, Robb grew impatient and used his free hand to yank down their hood. As he did, the face of Theon Greyjoy looked back at him. Robb dropped his dagger from Theon's throat and almost stumbled backwards.

"Theon?" Robb mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

The man took a moment to compose himself, and check the spot on his neck where the dagger had rested. "Good to see you as well," he muttered. "Lord Stark sent me."

"Is it Bran?" Robb asked, and instantly his stomach dropped. Had his Father sent Theon to break the news that his brother had died?

"Bran is awake," Theon explained, and Robb expelled a breath in relief.

"Why did he not just send a raven with the news?" Jon questioned.

"It is not as simple as that," Theon continued. "Shortly after you left with the King, an assassin made an attempt on Bran's life."

"What!" Robb nearly shouted. His hand went for his sword, as if to make ready for battle. "Who was it? Do they still live?"

"Luckily for Bran, his wolf was close by during the attempt. Which was unlucky for the assassin, because the beast tore his throat clear out his neck."

"So we have no idea who sent them?"

Theon reached into his cloak and pulled out an ornate dagger. "The assassin carried this. It's Valyrian steel. Only someone of very high birth would have owned something like this. It was likely payment for the job."

"That still does not tell us who hired him," Jon exclaimed.

"No," Theon agreed. "However, after the attempt was made on his life, Bran woke...and he remembered everything."

"What did he say?" Robb asked, deadly serious.

"Bran was climbing the tower, and stumbled upon the Kingslayer fucking the Queen," Theon revealed. "_Jaime Lannister_ tried to kill your brother."


	9. Chapter 9

It had taken considerable persuasion from Jon and Theon to stop him from marching to the Red Keep and attempting to impale Jaime Lannister on his sword. They had pinned him to the wall, and he had fought against them viciously to breakaway, but eventually his good sense won out. Now he stood in the godswood of King's Landing with Jon, Theon, and Jory, trying to make sense of things.

"Does Lord Stark mean to call his banners?" Jory asked Theon, from where he was leaned against a tree.

"Not yet. He was the angriest I have ever witnessed, but the risk to Robb would be considerable if he called his full strength," Theon commented. "Before I left he was preparing to travel to Last Hearth to meet with the Umbers under the guise of discussing the increased wildling attacks."

"What about appealing to the King himself?" Jon questioned.

Theon chuckled. "Of course. Walk up to the King and accuse his Queen of being in an incestuous affair with her Brother...all at the word of a small boy hundreds of miles away."

"You do not really believe that Tywin Lannister will allow my Father to seek justice against his own son and heir," Robb bristled. "Or the Queen for that matter. Add to that the fact that the King is beholden to Tywin to keep the treasury afloat."

"Lord Stark still believes the King is in danger," Theon continued. "The news of Bran's improvement is being kept concealed for the time being. No one outside of Lord and Lady Stark, Maester Luwin, and myself are aware."

"And what instruction did my Father have for me?" Robb sought.

"Patience, for now," Theon muttered sourly, clearly in disagreement with that strategy. "If you feel you are in immediate danger, then Lord Stark wants you to flee as quietly as possible. Otherwise, keep up appearances and be vigilant for any threats against the King. He will get word to you if circumstances change. He will not make a move until he is sure you are away from the Lannisters."

"And what will _you_ do now, Greyjoy?" Jon asked

"I've secured a room at an inn up the road from King's Landing. I'm sure you passed it on the journey here. I'll be staying there for the time being. There will be fresh horses ready if you need to run."

"Theon, I can't stress enough how important it is that you keep yourself concealed," Jory warned. "I'm glad that Lord Stark trusts you, but if someone finds out the heir to Iron Islands is in the Capital, it will draw very unwanted attention."

"Don't worry, I'll keep my cloak on and hood up when I'm out."

"That also means staying out of the brothels," Robb stated. "I think Littlefinger has an interest in most of the ones in King's Landing, so no doubt the employees there inform him about the clientele."

"No matter," Theon shrugged. "Plenty of soft and pretty things have made their way to the Capital for this tournament. I'm sure one of them can keep me entertained for a time."

"Just remember to do your thinking with your head and not your cock," Jon frowned. "We're in the midst of enemies."

"I see you're still cheerful as ever, Snow."

"That's enough," Robb halted Jon, before he could respond. "We've been here long enough. From now on, we all need to operate under the assumption that someone could be listening."

Later that evening, Robb found himself seated alone in his chambers, idly twirling the dagger that Theon had brought from Winterfell. His plate of dinner sat on his table abandoned, and barely touched. The thought that someone had tried to stab his Brother with the dagger infuriated him and would not leave his mind in peace. He wanted justice; to go before the King, point his finger at the Kingslayer and let the truth of the Lannister's crimes be known. However, that was not the way of things in the south. Few men were as upright and honest as Eddard Stark, and justice was a fleeting concept.

The main problem that Robb knew he faced was that he was surrounded by enemies with few friends of his own. It was something he needed to remedy quickly. The obvious two were the King's own brothers. Ideally he would have sought out Stannis, but Stannis was gone, and he could not risk sending letters to him. That left Renly. Renly was no warrior, but that did not mean that he did not have power and influence. He was the Lord of the Storm's End and could call men to his cause. The other man that Robb was tempted to talk to was the man who would be most concerned for the life of the King, Barristan Selmy. He had had few occasions to speak to the legendary fighter, but knew that he was well respected. He could not say the same for the other members of the Kingsguard.

A sudden tapping startled him, and Grey Wind, whom had been lying at Robb's feet, immediately raised his head towards the door. Robb ran a comforting hand over Grey Wind's head before tucking the dagger away out of sight. Assuming that it was Jon or Jory, he was taken aback at the much more pleasant vision standing on the other side of the door, standing with her hand up and prepared to knock again.

"Good evening, my lady," Robb greeted as Lady Margaery lowed her hand. "To what do I your presence?"

"Oh, I was feeling rather restless at dinner," she said, flippantly. "I managed to sneak away from my Father. It can be rather tiresome when he shows me off as if I'm a prize animal."

"And you just so happen to find your way to my chambers?"

"Not on my own, no. I may have convinced one of the guards to point me in the right direction. And here I am," she smiled. "I only saw you for a brief moment when I arrived, so I figured that needed to be remedied."

"You'll hear no complaint from me my lady. I would invite you inside, but I fear your Father would not look kindly on it. It would not be proper after all."

"Ah, but my Father is not here at the moment. It would be our secret."

Robb rubbed lightly at the stubble on his chin in thought. "Well, if you swear it will be a secret, then I guess there would be no harm in it." He stepped aside and allowed her to enter.

"Oh my!" It had not taken long before Margaery had notice the figure of Grey Wolf, still relaxed on the floor. The direwolf's eyes locked onto the visitor, but the rest of his form remained still and unconcerned.

Robb walked over the wolf and knelt down on one knee, placing a hand on his head. "This is Grey Wind," Robb explained. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you."

Margaery cautiously walked over, her eye's never leaving Grey Wind's. When she was directly in front of him, she tentatively held her right hand out. Grey Wind sniffed her hand, then allowed her softly touch him. "He's wonderful," Margaery exclaimed, more confident now.

"He watches my back," Robb said, giving Grey Wind a final scratch before standing up. "Would you care for a cup of wine?"

"That would be lovely," Margaery answered as she took the seat across from Robb's at his table. "I do have to apologize though, it seems I interrupted your meal." She gestured to the untouched platter on the table.

"No need to apologize, Margaery," Robb explained handing her a cup of wine. "I'm afraid I was too lost in my thoughts to actually to actually consume anything."

"Is something troubling you?"

"No, nothing serious. I think I'm just anxious for the tourney to start." It was a lie for the most part, but he felt it was a suitable deflection.

"Oh, I'm sure you will impress everyone," Margaery stated confidently. "Loras may pretend he does not get nervous, but he does."

"Yes, well I've decided to only compete in the melee, so there will only be one event to concentrate on," Robb explained.

"But is there not more prestige and a larger prize for the joust?"

"There is. I just look at the joust, and I can't help but think that it isn't very reflective of real fighting. In a battle, two men are not going to line up across from each other in front of a crowd, separated by a long partition. The melee is madness, enemies on all sides. It will be much better practice for a real battle."

"Are you expecting to be in battle soon?"

"No, but I suppose it never hurts to be prepared. I learned that on the way to King's Landing," Robb recalled. "Speaking of King's Landing, how have you found it so far?"

"I don't think I can fairly judge it, since I've only just arrived, but it certainly is not Highgarden."

"I would say that few places could rival Highgarden," Robb argued.

"I suppose that is true. My standards may just be high. And the King has been kind, but he is..."

"A drunk," Robb finished for her, and Margaery gave him a look of surprise. "There is not any point in denying it. He may be the King and my Father's friend, but the truth is the truth."

"Yes, I'd have to agree," Margaery nodded. "Hopefully the next King will be much more principled...not that there is anything wrong in indulging every so often," she finished raising her cup.

"I would not allow my hopes to be too high on that front, my lady," Robb frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"The Prince is not kind," Robb told her bluntly. "As far as I have seen, he is cruel to everyone, even his own siblings. I think I would rather have a disinterested, drunk king, than one who rules with disdain for everyone but himself."

Margaery glanced away from him for a moment and sighed. "My Father means for me to marry Joffrey."

"Your grandmother had told me as much," Robb confessed. "How do you feel about that?"

"I don't think I am surprised. As a lady from a great house, you know from an early age that your choices will not always be your own. In this case, I would be a queen. I cannot pretend that a part of me would not enjoy that title, but I would also be able to do so much good."

"I am sure you would be a wonderful queen, Margaery," Robb stated. "I just fear that all those good things you would do, would never be allowed to happen with Joffrey as your king. He does not strike me as one concerned for the sick and less fortunate."

"I fear there is nothing to be done," Margaery sighed.

"You could run away with me to the north," Robb suggested with a smile. "You said you wished to see Winterfell. I would hide you away and protect you from Joffrey."

"Is that so?" Margaery laughed. "And would you take me for your wife?"

"Aye, my lady, but only if you wished it. There is no one more beautiful or kind that I could possibly think of spending my life with."

Margaery did not respond, but rose slowly from her chair. She crept over to where Robb was seated, his eyes riveted. She proceeded to lower herself until she was seated on Robb's knee. Margaery turned her body until their eyes were locked together. "I am sure I would be the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms to be your wife, Robb. Maybe if the gods are truly good, then they will make it so." Margaery reached up with her hands and place one on each side Robb's face. Before Robb knew it, her lips were on his own. After recovering from the initial shock of it, he responded quickly, his own hands reaching up and cradling the back of her head. His whole body felt like it was aflame as he glorified in the softness of her lips, the slight taste of the wine she had sipped lingering.

Too quickly, she pulled back, her tempting pink tongue running over her swollen lips. "Good night, Robb. I will be cheering for you at the tournament." She then reached into her hair and pulled away a golden ribbon, placing it in his hand. "A favor for luck, even if you will not need it."

The morning of the tournament dawned and Robb had barely slept at all. The melee was not even scheduled for the next day, but thoughts of Margaery and the previous night had kept him up. Her kiss had just added to the maelstrom of things going through his mind. He dressed quickly and met Jon and Jory outside as they made their way down to the tournament grounds. The place was already mobbed by the time they reached it. Luckily they had been afforded reserved seating in the box next to the King with the other highborn spectators.

A dozen or so were already seated in the box, including Varys, Littlefinger and Renly Baratheon. Robb climbed his way up and took a seat next to Renly. "Morning Stark. Eager for the festivities to begin?"

"As much as anyone else I would say," Robb answered. "I'm sure I will be more so tomorrow when it is my time to compete. Do you mean to ride today?"

"Ah, yes, later this afternoon. I fear it will be a rather short tournament for me. I'm to ride against the Hound. An unfortunate draw, unless his horse scares and carries him away from King's Landing."

"Somehow I doubt that will happen, but I wish you luck all the same." Robb looked down and finally noticed the King sitting on a raised dais. He had a cup of wine in his left hand while his right was half way up the skirts of a serving girl.

"You can see my brother is starting the festivities early," Renly grimaced at his brother's actions. "As if he did not have enough black-haired bastards running around the city already. And now there is no Jon Arryn to look out for them."

"What do you mean?" Robb questioned.

"Jon would look after the bastards that Robert sired. He would go see the mothers and make sure that the children were cared for. I'm sure he felt guilt for the way Robert behaves. I've one of them at Storm's End, Edric."

"And they all have black hair."

"Hmm, I believe so. All the ones that I have seen."

Robb's mind immediately began piecing things together...the Queen's infidelity, Jon Arryn's knowledge of the King's bastards and subsequent mysterious death, Stannis fleeing the Capital. All of these things had to be related. Before he could think more on them though, they were interrupted.

"Are you here to see how real men fight, Stark," Prince Joffrey exclaimed as he walked in front of them. "Pay attention and maybe you will learn something. Although it will probably be too late to aide you in the tournament. Hopefully you will not embarrass yourself too thoroughly."

"Your concern is very kind," Robb jibed. "Tell me again my Prince, what events are you competing in?"

"Watch yourself Stark," Joffrey growled. "Competitors die frequently in these tourneys. It would be unfortunate if something were to happen. It would distress my Father greatly to have to send Lord Stark his son's rotting corpse in a box."

Robb rose from his seat, and walked so that he was directly in front of Joffrey. He could feel Jon rise behind him. "Is that a threat?"

"Lannisters do not make threats," Joffrey smirked. "We make promises and always follow through on them."

Robb stepped closer, until their foreheads were practically touching. "You know Joffrey, you may want to make certain your doors and windows are closed at night. Sometimes I neglect to close my own and Grey Wind has a habit of wondering the halls. He's a natural hunter, you see. Unfortunately, there are no deer roaming the halls, so he may just start to develop a taste for spoiled, pompous, prince."

"I'll have the beast skinned and I'll sleep on a bed of his fur," Joffrey growled.

"That would be the only way something would ever warm your bed, seeing as no woman would, willingly."

Now Joffrey smirked. "Oh Stark, you have not heard the news? I'm to wed Margaery Tyrell. I had heard that you were rather close with her on your visit to Highgarden. But now she will be my queen, and I will tie her to my made and use her for my pleasure whenever I see fit. She may be appear to be my Queen, but in reality she will be nothing but my whore."

That had done it for Robb, and Jon must have realized the same, because before Robb could lay waste to the Prince's face, Jon's arms were around Robb forcing him back. "He is not worth it, Robb."

"Listen to your bastard brother Stark," Joffrey sneered.

"What is going on here?"

Robb looked to his right and saw the diminutive form of Tyrion Lannister starting at them in concern.

"We were just talking Uncle," Joffrey muttered.

"Yes, I'm sure," Tyrion frowned. "That is why Snow is holding back Lord Stark here from ripping you in two. Don't you have some small animal to torture somewhere? I think I may have seen some stray kittens outside the Keep this morning."

Joffrey looked down at his Uncle in contempt before turning and walking away towards where the King was seated. Robb watched him until he was out of sight, the blonde hair all he was able to focus on...Lannister blonde hair.

"I apologize for my nephew, Robb." Tyrion shook his head in exasperation. "He may have been dropped on his head as a baby."

Robb sat back down and watched as the first set of riders entered. Jon leaned over so that no one would be able to overhear. "You will need to be careful tomorrow, Robb," Jon whispered. "I don't think you can discount the fact that he may actually pay someone enough to slip a dagger into your neck. The melee would be the perfect opportunity to do it."

"It would also be the perfect opportunity to kill Joffrey's father," Robb countered.

Jon looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why would you want to kill the King?"

"I'm not going to kill Robert Baratheon. I'm going to kill Jaime Lannister."


	10. Chapter 10

The tent was nothing but a thin stretch of fabric, yet Robb was glad that it helped to mask some of the noise from outside. His mind was already a jumble of thoughts, so any refuge from further distraction was welcome. Jon and Jory had been with him briefly to help him with his armor, but they had since left to take their seats at Robb's insistence. The only thing that remained undone was his sword and helm, which lay on the small table next to him.

He looked down at his breastplate, admiring the direwolf, the symbol of his house. As he thought on it, he realized that the next time he wore his armor, it would likely be standing next to his Father, at the head of a northern army. On that day there would be no games, no tournaments. That would be a march for justice for his brother and to put the Lannister machinations to rest. Although he had every intention of taking that into his own hands today. He knew it was a foolish notion. Jaime Lannister was likely one of, if not the best swordsman in Westeros, but if the opportunity presented itself, he would take his chance.

Knights wore heavy armor during the melee, and the idea was to batter the competition into submission, not stab or impale them. Just as in the joust though, Robb knew accidents and deaths were frequent. There were weak spots that could be taken advantage of, depending on the quality of the armor and the fighting style of the competitor. Under the arm and at the neck were often less protected, and some times a fighter preferred a helm with less eye protection for greater field of vision. Robb could only hope that the Kingslayer's overconfidence

Just as he was about to stand and make his way to where his horse was tethered, the door flap to his tent was pulled aside and a large figure stepped inside. He was slightly taken aback to see the King standing before him.

"Well Robb, you certainly look the part of the warrior," Robert bellowed as he stepped closer and casually rapped his giant fist against Robb's breastplate. "Since Ned isn't here to do it, I thought I would come to offer my sage wisdom on affairs of battle."

"I'm honored you would think to do so, your Grace," Robb bowed his head.

"Yes, yes," Robert waved off his gratitude. "Anyway, the thing to remember is to use your strengths to your advantage in these things. You're young, and many of these fighters are past their prime, trying to squeeze whatever little bit of glory they can get for their Houses. Make them swing at you until they're wheezing for their next breath, then knock the fuckers out!"

"And what about the better fighters?"

"Don't be intimidated by anyone," the King stated. "No matter who you're fighting, always believe you can win. That man across from you wants to stick his sword straight through your gut, so you stick yours through his first. If you're afraid, you may as well fall on your own damn sword."

"I won't be intimidated your Grace," Robb promised.

"Good. Remember to enjoy it. There's nothing like the chaos of a battle, surrounded on all sides by men looking to end you for good. My war hammer was like a part of me, and I swung it and cut down every man before they did me," the King reminisced. "Gods, just the thought of it makes my cock hard. I'd give anything to be out there today smashing heads and spilling blood on the ground. That was always so much easier than running a kingdom."

The King sighed, and Robb for the first time looked at the man differently. He often found it hard to believe that his Father and Robert Baratheon had been friends. Where Eddard was reserved and practical, Robert was brash and impulsive. Apparently their differences must have drawn them together. But now the King was a shell of his former legendary self, living off memories of past glory and caught in the grip of Lannister ambition. Robb felt sorry for him. He was under no illusion that the King was a perfect person, but the man had stood together with the Starks when the Mad King had roasted Robb's Grandfather alive and cruelly strangled his Uncle.

"Fight hard, Robb," the King said finally as he moved to exit. As Robb watched him go, he reaffirmed to himself that he would do everything he could to try and protect the man...at least from his enemies, if not from himself.

A sudden horn burst sounded from outside the tent signaling the competitors to assemble, so Robb took one last moment to compose himself. He secured his helm, attached his sword and walked into the blaring sunlight. Instantly the heat hit him, and he could already feel the perspiration gathering beneath the thick layer of padding he wore. It was stifling, but necessary. His horse was waiting patiently, covered slightly in armor to provide it some measure of protection. He detached his shield from where it was attached to the saddle and then swiftly ascended onto the back of his mount.

The tournament organizers had erected four sets of large viewing boxes around a spacious square of open ground to serve as the fighting area. As Robb entered through a small entrance at the joining of two of the boxes, he saw that the stands were filled to capacity, and in some cases clearly over it. Even many small children had found their way onto their parent's laps or shoulders, their faces painted to show their support for a particular competitor. The largest of the boxes was obviously set aside for the King, who actually sat alert, next to the Queen, whom was sat next to her Father, the namesake of the Tourney.

His eyes continued down the line, past the pompous face of the Prince and to Lady Margaery. She looked as beautiful as ever, with golden roses tucked into her hair. Robb glanced down at her ribbon, which was tied tightly around his wrist. The fact that she had given it to him, along with the memory of the feel of her lips was enough allay his annoyance at her place next to Joffrey. He savored one last glance at her before taking his place in the fighting grounds.

There were at least forty other fighters circled around the grounds. Some were clearly ordinary hedge knights, with unrecognizable sigils and hodgepodge of fine and shoddy armor and arms. Others Robb recognized instantly. Many of his Grandfather's bannerman from the Riverlands were in attendance, including Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard, and his heir Patrek. Lord Mallister was a well-respected fighter, and he looked the part, the silver eagle of House Mallister contrasted by the bright indigo field on his shield. Robb looked further and saw the red priest, Thoros of Myr, whom his Father had told him colorful stories of. His survey of the field stopped when he came to Jaime Lannister, adorned in his Kingsgaurd attire. The man looked as if he did not have a care in the world, and it drove Robb mad. He did not have long to simmer though, because the King rose from his chair, the signal to prepare for his wave to start.

Robb drew his sword, and stared straight across to the rider on the opposite side. There would be one crazy charge to the center of the square to begin the melee, but then it would break apart into smaller battles. It was for this reason that so few fighters had chosen to come with spear or lance. They were good for smaller matches where a fighter could make one charge, compose himself, and then make another run. In a melee this large, there would not be sufficient opportunity, and the odds of being quickly unhorsed were high.

He barely saw the King's hand rise out of the corner of his eye, which was followed by a final blast of the horn. He was off within a second, pushing his mount as hard as the beast would go. Other riders were closing in quickly on his sides, but he kept his eyes focused on the man bearing the burning tree of House Marbrand storming towards him. Robb twisted his body to right, intent on creating as much swing room as possible. He held the reins with his left hand, hitched back his sword with his right, and when he was practically on the other fighter, launched his strike. Robb had struck faster, forcing the Marabrand man to halt his own and go on the defensive. Robb had maneuvered his horse so close to the man, that when his sword made contact, it hit the man's sword and as well as his stomach, clearly winding him. The strike slowed Robb's momentum enough that he turned around and laid another attack at the back. His opponent grunted at the contact and charged off out of harms way.

Robb had precious few seconds to gather himself before two more riders were on him. Fortunately, both swung at the same time, and he was able to bat aside both. He cursed when another rider snuck up on his back and landed a strike in the center of it. His armor had taken the contact well, but the force of the hit still caused vibrations to rip through him. Robb rode forward and away from the threat, turning to take in the field once more. Already several men were on foot, and several were face down, unmoving in the dirt. He watched Lord Mallister charge and unleash a vicious slash against the helm of one of the unhorsed men, throwing him back through the air onto his back. Robb should have been paying attention to the man's son, who had approached quickly from Robb's side. Unfortunately, the Mallister heir had pushed his horse too hard and, while he attempted to stop, could not and crashed into Robb. The effect was that both were thrown sideways from their respective mounts hard onto the ground.

Robb's arm had slipped out his shield, and his helm and flown off on the way down, meaning he was much more exposed as he stood and got his bearings. Patrek Mallister was already stood and approaching, so Robb attacked first. Their blades met in a series of thrusts and blocks before Robb was so close that he propelled the pommel of his sword directly into the front of Patrek's helm. Robb was sure that he had broken the man's nose, and he was proven right when blood began to pour down his neck. Patrek Mallister dropped to his knee, shaken. When Robb gripped his sword with both hands and reared back again, the fallen man dropped his sword.

"I yield," Mallister yelled, his words barely intelligible from the blood that had pooled into his mouth.

Barely giving his opponent another glance, Robb turned around. What once had been a field of dozens had been whittled down into just a handful. Robb's heart was racing and his muscles were already sore. He could just barley make out the sounds of the excited crowd. He watched as Jaime Lannister made quick work of a Baratheon Bannerman, expertly cutting him down with quick, successive strikes. Robb was not left alone for long, as a man bearing the blue towers of House Frey confronted him. Unlike Robb, the man wielded a giant battle-axe. It was a fearsome looking weapon, blade on one side and hammer on the other-more powerful than a sword, but slower. The Frey kept the axe at his side as he came forward, then at the last second, swung two handed over his head, intent on splitting Robb like a piece of firewood.

Without his lost shield, Robb was forced to block with only his sword. The force of the axe was too much for him to hold, and it crashed down into Robb's shoulder, barely missing his exposed neck. The pain was intense, forcing him down onto his knee. The Frey was clearly intent on ending Robb for good, because he raised the axe over his head again, prepared to hack away. As he did so, Robb propelled his body forward and rolled on his healthy shoulder beneath the axe. Turning on his knees, Robb swung his sword and drove it into his attacker's knee. The hit was hard and true, bending the leg unnaturally and throwing him to ground, screaming in agony. Robb paid him no more mind. The man was done.

As Robb turned, a blinding light flashed out of nowhere, forcing him to look away. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Thoros had lit his sword and was brandishing it at Jaime Lannister, who seemed only amused by it as he passed the fallen Lord of Seagard at his feet. The two fighters expertly traded blows as the flames whipped through the air. Thoros was a good fighter, but his opponent was not bowed by his theatrics. Soon enough, the Kingslayer overpowered the red priest, knocking the blazing sword into the dirt, extinguishing it. Thoros raised his hands and gave up the fight. Robb looked around and quickly realized why no one else had attacked him as he watched Thors' defeat. There were only two fighters left, he and Jaime Lannister. In all honesty, he had not expected to make it so far, but perhaps the gods were in his corner...or perhaps not.

The roars of the crowd had died down after their favorite, Thoros, had been defeated, but they were clearly on edge in anticipation. He was not certain, but he was sure he saw Jon in the stands, intense worry on his face. Robb approached the Kingslayer and they began circling each other.

"I have to say I'm rather impressed you're still standing," he mocked, infuriating grin on his face. "How did you manage time to practice swordplay in Winterfell? Are you not always preparing for that dreaded winter your Father likes to warn about, endlessly?"

"Are we here to fight or talk, _Kingslayer_?" Robb questioned, ignoring the taunt.

Jaime Lannister's mouth thinned at the use of the moniker, clearly annoyed. "I'm only trying to extend the show for the crowd. I'm afraid once the fighting starts it's sure not to last long at all. Starks always _fall_ in the end."

Even though the Kingslayer, hopefully, had no idea that Robb knew of his actions in Winterfell, the man still had the audacity to mock his brother. The rage that Robb had felt upon learning the news returned quickly, and he was done talking, and Jaime Lannister realized as well. Robb stepped forward quickly and began the fight, lashing out with a strike. The Kingslayer parried easily, beginning a trade of blows between them. The man was quick, Robb conceded, and he was doing everything he could to fend off his attacks, especially with his injured shoulder pulsing painfully. His defense slipped once and he took a hit to the ribs, which winded him and forced him to retreat back.

Seeing his wounded foe, Lannister struck. Robb side stepped the thrust, and drove his fist into Jaime Lannister's face, pushing him back. The man felt his face, running his hand over the fresh cut that Robb had opened. It stopped the Kingslayer for only a moment before he retaliated, swing his sword with two hands upward from his left. Robb's own sword met the strike, but the power of his opponent pushed it to the side, and the Lannister sword carried on until it sliced through Robb's right cheek. He felt his warm blood as it began to run down his shortly cropped beard and down onto his neck. The wound stung fiercely, but he was not sure how deep the cut ran, and did not care at the moment.

"So Starks bleed like the rest of us?" Jaime Lannister taunted again. "I was sure it was ice that ran through your veins."

Robb raised his sword and they began circling each other again. "That's amusing," Robb stated. "There's a saying about the Lannisters as well, which I've always been curious about."

"Oh, what would that be?"

"They say Lannisters shit gold," Robb explained. "I don't have the time to examine your chamber pot, so I'll just have to cut you open like a fish and see what falls out. If I find any, I'll be sure to return it to your Father."

Jaime Lannister struck again, viciously swinging at Robb. Again, Robb had trouble keeping up, and when he stumbled back off balance, his grip on his sword loosened and it was knocked from his hands. He was defenseless. Momentarily stunned, he could not move when the Kingslayer stepped forward and drove his boot into his stomach. The kick was fierce, throwing Robb backward. He coughed, trying to fill his lungs with air again, but failing. He turned over until he was crawling on his hands and knees. He was stopped when a hand grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back.

"Do you yield Stark? Or should I continue with the show?"

The words were forming on his lips, but he could not gather the air to speak them. Realizing that there was a chance he could die any moment, his eyes danced around in desperation. He had not realized it, but he had crawled next to the body of a fallen fighter. In the man's belt was a sheathed dagger. Robb reached out quickly and unseen, pulling away the dagger from its confines. The Kingslayer was gripping him with his left hand, which meant that was the direction he had to go. He gave a few more exaggerated coughs buying time, then moved. His left arm swung around, gripping Lannister's arm and pulling him forward. Robb nearly cried out as the pressure on his hair and skull increased dramatically, but in the same movement he rolled his body around and drove the dagger into the Kingslayer's left side. Armor slowed the path of the blade, but soon enough it was piercing skin and muscle until it was firmly embedded.

The grip on Robb's hair was gone and he stood and found his sword. They had exchanged places, with the Kingslayer now on his knees, his sword forgotten as his hands put pressure on the offending dagger. The crowd was stunned into silence, and remained so as Robb took long, slow steps forward, his grip on his sword taut and unrelenting. He had suddenly forgotten the word _yield_. It was no longer in his vocabulary. All he saw was the exposed tan skin on Jaime Lannister's neck, covered by strands of golden Lannsiter hair. He barely even noticed as the sword drew back, his mind only replaying images of Bran's broken body lying at bottom of a tower in Winterfell. And then the sword was ready, ready to separate head from shoulder. He took one deep breath then swung.

"Enough!"

Robb stopped immediately when he heard the King's voice. He looked back and saw Robert Baratheon on his feet, clearly stunned. However, behind the King, whispering furiously were Cersei and Tywin Lannister.

"Jaime Lannister yields," the King bellowed. "Robb Stark is the victor."

Just like Robb, the crowd seemed to be equal parts confused and furious for the action halting, but then they eventually began to cheer and chant "Stark." Robb looked at his opponent, and almost stepped back at the sheer intensity of the Kingslayer's ire. He stood slowly, painfully, blood still seeping from his wound and covering his gloved hands.

"This isn't over Stark," he whispered.

"No, Lannister," Robb frowned, "it's not."


	11. Chapter 11

The atmosphere in the great hall was boisterous as the attendees celebrated the conclusion of the Tourney of the Hand. For Robb it was much more of an annoyance than anything. Earlier that day, they had watched as Loras Tyrell had yielded the joust competition to the Hound, after the scarred man had faced off against his brother, Gregor Clegane's, rage to save the Knight of Flowers from an untimely and violent death. While the Tournament Champion would normally be the focal point of the evening, Sandor Clegane seemed to loathe everyone, and everyone seemed fine to leave him be where he stood scowling next the Prince. Of course, that meant that Robb was the new center of attention. Apparently stabbing Jaime Lannister made a man popular.

Though his popularity did not extend to everyone. If the looks the Lannisters gave him could kill, he would be a dead man a thousand times over. The Kingslayer was still recovering from his wound and since Cersei was not in attendance at the feast, Robb knew she must have been providing him personal bedside attention. While the King had been eager to aid him prior to the tournament, he had been distant from Robb ever since. He had bestowed upon Robb a small golden sword and bag of gold at the ceremony following the end of the joust, but he had not spoken to him. Robb could only put it down to the fury of Tywin and his daughter.

Robb had finally managed to extract himself from a group of admirers and find somewhere to refill his wine cup, when he felt yet another presence behind him. His initial look of annoyance quickly gave way when he saw the venerable Barristan Selmy standing close by.

"I won't intrude on you for long, Stark, but I wanted to offer my congratulations on your victory," the old warrior commended. "It was well fought, especially for one with your few years."

"I'm greatly honored by your praise, Ser Barristan, but I'm afraid it was much more good fortune than anything."

The white-haired man chuckled. "Robb, I'm a good fighter, but there have been many good fighters I have either crossed swords with or fought side by side with during my lifetime. The only reason why I am still living and some of them are not is because I was lucky many more times than I was not."

"And also a _very_ good swordsman," Robb asserted.

"Well, let's just agree to say that the amount of luck depends on the quality of the swordsman, but there is still luck involved all the same."

"I'll agree to that," Robb nodded, chuckling. "There was actually another mattere I had wished to discuss with you, but I don't think tonight is the appropriate time or place. Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow when you are not on duty?"

Ser Barristan looked curious, but nodded. "Of course. Shall I stop by your chambers?"

"That will do fine. Thank you, Ser Barristan."

"Of course. Enjoy the rest of the feast. You've earned it." The leader of the Kingsguard meandered away into another throng of guests.

"What was that about?"

Robb looked over his shoulder as his Brother approached, looking inquisitive. "I've arranged for a meeting with Ser Barristan tomorrow. We're going to need his support if anyone decides to make a move," Robb whispered.

"What about Renly? Should he not be our priority? Ser Barristan is still only one man."

"He still is," Robb confirmed, surveying the room. "I mean to speak to him tonight, if the opportunity presents itself."

"Just be cautious," Jon warned. "I fear your humiliation of the Kingslayer may have escalated things."

"Maybe, but we hold the greatest weapon...the truth. It will just be a matter of making our play before they do."

"Can I tell you how much I despise these fucking political games?" Jon asked.

"There's no need," Robb stated. "I feel much the same. I think I will only feel better when I'm back in Wintefell, secure and safely wrapped in the furs on my bed."

"I do feel the need to remind you one more time, that it is completely your fault that I am here," Jon muttered.

"And I'll acknowledge your point once again, but I think I see my chance to speak to our needed friend." Indeed, Renly had just finished speaking to some Lord whom Robb did not recognize, and was seemingly heading toward a table laden with mounds of food. When Robb reached him, the Lord of Storm's End was picking up some sort of small pastry from the table.

"It seems no expense was spared for this event," Robb commented, as he too reached for something off the table, trying his best at nonchalance.

"Ah, Robb, congratulations on your victory. I cannot lie, I thoroughly enjoyed it."

"Thank you, Renly. I don't mean to be rude, but I actually did not come to exchange pleasantries. Would it be possible to have a word with you in private?"

"Now? And miss out on the feast?"

Robb leaned closer, so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "The matter I wish to raise is of utmost importance," he insisted. "The King is in danger."

Renly instantly lost his casualness and stared hard at Robb. "Alright. Let's slip out of here quickly." Luckily the food tables were well attended, so getting out of the hall was relatively easy. Renly, having spent a much greater amount of time in the Keep navigated them, leading them to some sort of storage room filled with all matter of forgotten things. There was a window to the room that offered them their only small source of light. "So tell me your concerns, Robb."

"I've received word from my Father in Winterfell," Robb began. "My Brother, Bran, has awoken from his fall from the tower."

"Well that's excellent news is it not?"

"He remembered everything prior to his fall, Renly. He was just an adventurous boy out to have fun climbing, when he had the misfortune to stumble upon Jaime Lannister fucking his own sister."

Renly's jaw immediately dropped. "You jest!"

"About something like this, I would not dare, especially standing inside the Red Keep of King's Landing. Bran caught them in the act, and Jaime Lannister shoved him off a tower and tried to kill him. He was lucky not to die, but he'll likely not ever walk again."

"I wish I could say that I did not believe him capable of such, but we all know that not to be the case. Though, to bed the Queen is an act of treason."

"That was not the end of it though. Someone sent an assassin to try and finish the job, but they were unsuccessful."

"Why have we not had news of this? Why has my Brother not been informed?"

Robb began pacing the room restlessly. "Because my Father fears for the King's safety...and mine as well, considering I am currently stuck here. In case you had not noticed, the Lannisters fill King's Landing as if it is their own family seat. What do you think will happen when the King finds out that his Queen is laying with a member of his own Kingsguard?"

"Nothing pleasant. Robert's temper is legendary. He went to war and overthrew a King the last time he was truly upset."

"And that is just part of it, Renly. You remember our conversation from yesterday, do you not? None of Cersei's children look a thing like Robert Baratheon. They are clearly nothing but Lannister. The King has no heirs."

"Robert will have all of their heads for this," Renly frowned. "There will be no stopping him."

"Unless the Lannisters make a move against him first," Robb countered. "There is no chance that Jon Arryn died of some random sickness. He was murdered for something, and if I had to guess it was for having the same knowledge that Bran had. The Lannisters are already on edge, and they have no idea that Bran is awake. If the King suddenly dies like Jon Arryn, they can install Joffrey on the throne and make us all look like treasonous dissidents if we confront them. We would not keep our own heads for long."

"Not likely," Renly agreed. "Where is your Father, Robb? I can't imagine he is content to sit back and let the Lannisters have their way."

"He is being patient out of necessity," Robb explained. "He has already started organizing his bannerman, but once he starts gathering his army or marching towards the Riverlands, the news will reach King's Landing. We still have an opportunity to put a plan in place and be proactive, but it must be done quickly."

"What would you have me do?" Renly asked.

"We need enough loyal Baratheon men in the capital to forestall any action or possible retaliation by the Lannisters. I do not think that we can take the City Watch's loyalty for granted, so that must be accounted for as well. At least until my Father's army is close."

"I will leave at once for Storm's End," Renly responded, after a few moments of contemplation. "Give me a few days and I will have the men we need. I will make some trivial excuse up for the visit. I doubt Robert will miss me or anyone else will miss me."

"I have no authority to tell you to do this Renly, but I will ask it of you. I think once you reach Storm's End, you should contact Stannis. With things being as they are, he is the heir to the throne."

"Must I?" Renly clearly looked displeased. "King's Landing has been much less dreary without him."

Robb sighed at the older man's childishness. "I know he is not well liked, Renly, but his military skill and experience cannot be questioned. There may come a time that we need him. He knew something was wrong when he left King's Landing, knew Jon Arryn was murdered, but he was the only one at the time. He will not be alone now."

The feast was still in full swing when Robb reentered the Great Hall after leaving Renly. No one but Jon paid him any particular attention as he moved back over to his brother.

"So?" Jon questioned

"It is done," Robb answered. "We should have the men we need within a few days, if Renly is to be believed."

"Those will be a long few days," Jon muttered.

"Then you should go enjoy yourself tonight," Robb encouraged, patting his Brother on the arm. "Go get roaring drunk, or find yourself a beautiful lass to kiss. That's exactly what I intend to do." His gaze had slowly shifted away from Jon and to Margaery, who was slowly making her way through the crowd.

"Try not to bed her in the middle of the hall, if you can restrain yourself," Jon commented as he saw Robb's attention shift. "I think you've angered the Lannisters enough for one day."

"Was that an attempt at humor, Snow?" Robb mocked. "I was not certain you were capable of such a thing."

He left his Brother and pushed his way through the throngs of guests until he was situated directly behind the object of his affections. Reaching out, he gently ran his hand along the fabric of her dress that covered her back, garnering her attention. She looked back and smiled gently when she saw him standing there.

"Robb," she greeted. "I would say congratulations are in order. You fought brilliantly, though you certainly had my heart beating quickly."

"Thank you, my lady, but I think it is you I have to thank for the victory." Robb pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and showed her where her golden ribbon was still tied around his wrist. "It was only by the luck you afforded me that I came away the winner."

"I appreciate the compliment, Robb, but I think your skill and determination had much more to do with it than I. Were you hurt anywhere else?" she asked, casually running her finger along the length of the cut on Robb's cheek. Luckily it had not been deep, and the maester attending him had simply applied a paste to it to aid in healing.

"Nothing serious," Robb responded, enjoying the feel of her touch. "Just some bumps and bruises. I'm likely to be sore in the morning, but the wine is doing a well enough job of making me forget about such."

"It is a shame that we are not alone then, because I could think of other more pleasant ways to distract your mind," she teased, her smile dazzling and impish.

Robb found himself speechless for a moment, before he reached up and grabbed her lingering hand. "I will have to remember you have such impressive skills. Though, for now, would you accompany me for a walk outside? I think I need a brief reprieve from all of the noise."

"Of course, Robb. I would love a walk," she easily agreed.

With Margaery's arm through his own, Robb quickly maneuvered them through the hall and eventually outside into the night air. They passed others who were late to the feast or simply so drunk that they had simply passed out against the castle walls. The guards posted outside paid them no mind as they passed, but Robb knew they watched and reported to one of many different backers, so he quickly steered Margaery away.

Inevitably, Robb led them to the one place that gave him any sense of home in the enormity of King's Landing, the godswood. There was limited light in the acre of wood, so Robb managed to locate an abandoned lantern before they entered. The sight of the gnarled heart tree was haunting in the darkness, but they took a seat next to it nonetheless. As they sat, taking in the night air and listening to sound of the Blackwater Rush as it flowed behind them, Margaery reached out and took of his left hand with both of hers.

"Is there something wrong, Robb?" she questioned. "You've seemed distracted ever since we left the hall. I would have thought your victory would have you in good spirits. Are you certain you were not injured?"

"No, no, I am fine, Margaery, truly" Robb reassured, though he knew there was still a hint of stress to his voice. "I am pleased I won the melee, but I am afraid other things are weighing heavily on my mind."

"Is it your Brother? Has there been word of his condition?"

Robb opened his mouth, but then hesitated. He liked Margaery, and he wanted to trust in her. There were already so few people he could. His desire won out over his caution. "Aye, I received word from my Father. Bran has awoken. He'll live, but likely never walk again."

"You are fortunate then that you still have your Brother, Robb. Willas may not be able to ride or fight as he once did, but he still has his mind, and we love him just the same."

"That's very true, my lady," Robb agreed. "And I am very thankful that I will get to see him and talk to him again when I return to Winterfell."

"Then what troubles you?"

"Other news came from my Father as well," Robb confessed. "I will not tell you everything in detail, but I fear there will be war in Westeros soon."

"War? War between whom?"

"I could tell you, but I think you can guess."

"The Lannisters," she replied with no hesitation.

"Aye, the Lannisters. Things have happened that cannot be undone, and truths will be revealed that cannot be unsaid," he stated. "People are going to die, and the only question is how many."

"What are you going to do?" Margaery asked, worry clearly reflected in her eyes.

"I'm going to protect my King," Robb proclaimed. "I'm going to protect my House, and my family. I have already taken steps to secure more allies in King's Landing. Unfortunately, until they arrive, we are outnumbered here."

"Can I help?" Margaery questioned, gripping Robb's hand tighter. "You should speak to Loras. He will help you. I know it. And there are other soldiers here with our family who will as well, if Loras orders it. I could send word to my Grandmother-"

"No, Margaery," Robb halted her impassioned speech, now holding both of her hands. "I am only telling you the things I am because I want you to be safe if the worse should come to pass. Your family has had no involvement in this. These actions are mine. If things go badly, I don't want any fall out on you or your House. As much as it would have disappointed me, I wish you had stayed in the safety of Highgarden."

"Well, I am glad I did not," Margaery countered, leaning her forehead against Robb's. With her so close, he could smell the intoxicating scent of the flowery perfume she wore. "If I had stayed, then I may have never had the chance to do this." She closed the remaining distance and kissed him again.

She was finished talking and Robb had no problem with that. She was an excellent kisser. Her hands were roaming over his chest and abdomen, and on several occasions one ventured bravely down to the inside of his thigh, causing his entire body to warm. Robb took his own initiative, letting his hands wander down her back until they firmly gripped the curves of her backside. He lifted her onto his lap, their hips now practically melded together. Robb could barely stifle a moan at the new friction between them. However, if he thought he was in control, he was quickly proven wrong as he was pushed backwards onto the bench, Margaery still attached to his lips. Before things could progress any further though, one Margaery's hands found a particular spot along Robb's side that had taken a blow during the Tourney. The sudden pain caused a jolt, and Robb's body lurched forward. His lips broke away from Margaery, letting out a hiss of pain as they did so.

"Are you alright?" Margeary asked, concerned and breathing deeply.

"Yes," Robb grimaced, half in pain, half in embarassment. "Sorry, my side is still a little tender."

"It should be I that is apologizing," Margaery argued. "I told you when I got you alone I would make you feel better, not hurt you more."

Robb laughed as he reluctantly sat up and lifted Maragery so that she was once again seated next to him. "You were doing a magnificent job prior to that, my lady, as I believe you could tell."

"Yes, I very much could," she grinned, and leaned over to kiss him briefly once more.

"As much as I enjoyed it, I am glad we were stopped," Robb confessed. "I do not think the godswood in King's Landing is the most appropriate place for such things."

"And where would the appropriate place be?" she teased.

"A nice, soft, feather bed far away from this dreadful place," he responded, caressing her cheek.

"It sounds as though you are a bit of a romantic Robb Stark."

"Maybe," he laughed. "I think Sansa's obsession with stories of heroic knights and their fair ladies may have corrupted me a touch."

"Your Sister sounds lovely," Margaery smiled. "Maybe one day we'll have our own story written in books and told to children throughout the realm."

"A good one I hope," Robb muttered. "In the north, we tend to grow up on stories of giants, wildlings, and all manner of other things meant to frighten small children."

"No, I'm sure our story will be a brilliant one. The gallant and brave Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark, and his adoring, beautiful wife Margaery. Oh, and we cannot forget their eight wonderful children."

"Eight?" Robb's eyes widened. "Why eight?"

"Well, it is so very cold in the north. We will have to do what we can to keep warm."

"Of course," Robb nodded. "What happened to becoming queen?"

"Just a girl's dream," Margaery explained. "If becoming queen turns someone into a miserable hag like Cersei Lannister, then I think I would rather be anything else."

"Then I will make you my wife," Robb promised. "If things work as we've planned, then any thought of a betrothal to Joffrey will be a distant memory."

"Truly?"  
"I would marry you right this second if our families would not disown us for it."

"And how would we do that?"

Robb pointed to the great oak tree next to them. "Most northern houses don't have Septs or Septons. When we pray or say our vows, we do so here because it is said that the old gods hear us and judge us through the trees. They bear witness to our words."

"So we could say our vows right here, right now, and in the eyes of the north we would be married?"

"Yes," Robb confirmed. "As tempting as that would be, I would say my vows to you in Winterfell, in the home of my ancestors. It would not feel right here, not in this place."

"I agree," Margaery nodded, leaning against him. "Hopefully the gods are good and will grant that to us."

"Hopefully," Robb sighed, though visions of war and carnage ran through his mind.

No one had seemed to pay much mind to his or her absence when he escorted Margaery back into the feast, though Jon had simply raised an inquiring brow at him. The exhaustion of the day had taken a toll on him, and before long, and after a final cup of wine, he had made his excuses and headed back towards his chambers.

Though it seemed that things were closing in around him in King's Landing, he found himself still savoring the time he had spent with Margaery. She had a wonderful and addictive presence about her that he could not help but love. They had only just met, but he knew, somehow, that he would be happy with no other woman, not southern or northern. He still had a smile on his face at the recall of their night when he pushed open the door to his chambers. That smile quickly fell.

"Ah, Lord Stark," Varys greeted from where he was seated at Robb's table. He was wearing another of his garish purple robes, and in his hands he was casually examining a certain valyrian steel dagger. On the table in front of him sat a very large tome. "I am most glad that you have returned. We have much to discuss, and so little time it seems."

Robb quickly closed the door behind, needing to know that his back was not exposed. It was unfortunate that Grey Wind was out hunting, because Varys would not have been so leisurely sitting in Robb's room otherwise. "I am afraid you have me at a loss Lord Varys," Robb remarked. "What matters could we have to discuss at this hour of the night?"

Varys frowned, which immediately put Robb on edge, the sight disconcerting. The man rarely showed emotion. "Oh, there are a variety of matters to discuss...the future of the Seven Kingdoms...the safety of the King...why your Father is calling his banners and amassing an army in the north. Shall we start with the last?"


	12. Chapter 12

Robb did not move his lips or utter a word. He turned away from Varys and walked to the hearth where the fire was slowly dying, flickering and creating roving shadows on the walls of the chamber. While the room was silent, Robb's mind was not. His heart was practically beating out of his chest. Varys may have been asking questions, but there was no doubt in Robb's mind that the Master of Whispers already knew the answers. He had not worn his sword to the feast, but could see it where he had left it nestled into a corner in the room. Could he do it? Could he grab the sword and silence Varys? It would be for the good of Westeros.

He quickly passed by the sword, leaving it behind him, and took a seat across from Varys.

"I am unarmed...at least in the physical sense," Varys noted. "Sometimes words are more deadly than blades."

"Secrets even more so," Robb countered. "How long have you known and how much do you know?"

"You mean when did I find out that Brandon Stark was awake from his fall, and that Eddard Stark was riding around the North courting his men for battle? Remarkably, I received a raven just this morning."

"I will give you credit, your informants are good," Robb conceded.

"Not good enough it would seem, because the letter failed to reveal whether young Brandon remembered the circumstances of his fall. A key piece of the puzzle, would you not say?"

"I would," Robb said without emotion. "Though, I do not think it matters much what Bran remembers, now does it? If someone were responsible for Bran's fall, then just the information you have would be enough. My _Father_ knows, and that is enough. The question is, who have _you_ told?"

"Me? No one Lord Stark."

"No one," Robb repeated. "Why are you here then, and not informing the King? Who exactly is it that you serve, Lord Varys? If I remember correctly, you were there whispering to the Mad King right till the end. Yet here you still are."

"I am here because I serve the realm, Lord Stark," Varys responded.

"And how is coming to my chambers in the dark of night serving the realm?"

Varys did not respond, but placed his hand on the book that was sitting front of him. "Do you see this book, Lord Stark? It was the one that Jon Arryn was reading incessantly right before his death." Robb looked down at the book, titled _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_. He pulled the old tome towards him and noticed a piece of parchment tucked into the books, which he assumed was holding a page. Flipping open to the tabbed section, he saw the history of the Baratheon family laid before him. As he started from the top of the page and made his way down, the same phrase repeated over and over..._dark of hair..._right until Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen..._blond of hair._

"I do not think that anyone would deny that Jon Arryn was a good man," Varys began, "but unfortunately he was not inconspicuous. Reading books such as this one and then making visits to the King's bastards, including the apprentice _you_ met before the Tourney, was anything but a secret. It was no wonder someone killed him."

"So you know it was murder, then?"

"Do I know? No. But I am also not a fool. I have seen the work of poison before. It was no simple sickness that took Jon Arryn. Though, the man did try his best to warn the King in the end, even in his delirium as death approached. Over and over he repeated _the seed is strong._"

"You knew all of this," Robb simmered, standing from his chair. "You knew the princes and princess are illegitimate. You knew the Queen was lying with her own brother. Yet you said nothing to your King. You let him walk in ignorance of the danger around him. You sit on the King's Small Council and you serve at his pleasure! Why did you not do your duty, Lord Varys?"

The Master of Whsipers leaned back in his chair with his hands tucked into his the sleeves of his robe. "For the same reason I am here right now Lord Stark...to avoid this country being thrown into the clutches and chaos of another pointless war. Robert Baratheon has never been much of a King. Jon Arryn did what he could, but now that he is gone, the King will drink himself into an early grave. Stability in the Kingdom when that happens will be needed."

"It won't be the wine that will kill the King, Lord Varys, it will be his own family by law. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Politics is not a game for the weak, Robb. So often there is no place for honor. Sometimes one must die to protect many."

Robb's eyes burned with the distaste he felt for the slimy excuse for a man that sat at this table. To so callously speak of the necessity of murder was jarring. For Robb it was the equal of Jaime Lannister pushing Bran off that tower to preserve his family's dignity. "What do you want from me, Lord Varys? What games would you have me play to forsake my own honor as a Stark?"

"Leave, Lord Stark. Tonight. Ride north and find your Father and get him to cease in his intentions to march on King's Landing. It is not too late for excuses to be made for him."

"When I ride north, Lord Varys, it will be to join my Father," Robb responded with no thought to the other man's words. "I would not be able to look my Father in the eyes long enough to say the words."

"So look at the ground while you do it. The words are enough."

Robb walked over to where his sword sat and picked it up. "You were right Lord Varys. Sometimes one man must die to protect many. However, sometimes many must fight and die to protect the realm you claim to serve." He fixed the sword to his belt and moved towards the door, but stopped at Varys' call.

"Lord Stark, you are a good man, I have little doubt. Whatever you mean to do, you should do so quickly. I will keep my secrets, but I am not the only one who hears whispers from far away places."

Robb spared the man one last look, then left his chambers. There were plans to make.

The chambers of Ser Barristan Selmy were small and filled to capacity early the next morning. Robb had immediately sought out Jon and Jory after leaving the Master of Whispers and found the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The man had been surprised when all three had shown up to his chambers fully armored. He was furious when Robb finished telling him of the secrets the Lannisters were holding. Ser Barristan had served the Targaryen's faithfully till the end, and he held no love for Jaime Lannister or his family and the roll they played in ending their dynasty.

"Can your brothers in the Kingsguard be trusted Ser Barrisatn," Robb asked after he had given the man a brief respite to take in all he had learned.

"No," Ser Barristan answered with little hesitation. "Trant and Blount are the Queen's lackeys and the others may be good fighters, but honorable knights they are not."

"Anyway we look at the situation we will be outnumbered," Jory stated.

"If we are conspicuous enough to alert attention," Jon agreed.

"Renly has already been on the road for hours, and he will not have to ride far to find men loyal to him," Robb noted. "Instead of facing our enemies head on, it may be just a matter waiting them out until Renly returns. If we can secure the King somewhere in the Keep, or even get him out, it would be good enough."

"It would be the most wise plan," Ser Barristan agreed. "Blount is on guard duty in front of the King's chambers currently. I could relieve him at the door and you could follow soon after. It is still early enough that the halls should be relatively empty, so do your best to keep quiet."

"We will or we'll die," Robb grimaced.

"I will see you again in a few moments," the Lord Commander nodded. He exited the room, his white cape sweeping behind him.

Jory walked over and put a hand on his and Jon's shoulders. "I want you to know, that I should be doing everything in my power right now to get you boys out of here. Your Father would hang me if he knew I was following you into this mess. Just promise me if things go wrong, you do everything to get yourselves away and home to Winterfell. This is not your last stand."

Robb and Jon both nodded as the ominous silence took over the room again. They waited until they felt that Ser Barristan had enough time to establish himself at the King's door and for Blount to disappear. Robb led the way, keeping against the walls and to the shadows. There was still a hint of darkness in the sky so their journey was made easier. Sure enough, when they arrived Ser Barristan was standing alone.

"Any trouble?" Robb whispered to him.

"None. It did not take much to convince Blount to leave his post. Are you ready?"

Robb nodded is confirmation. Ser Barristan turned and pushed the right side of the double door open leading them as they slipped into the darkness of the expansive rooms. There were several candles flickering around the room, but it was completely silent. The main part of the chamber was an entertaining area, where the King's table stood in front of a large balcony. They passed by and turned into the bedchamber and Robb saw the massive form of the King lying on his giant bed, asleep.

"Your Grace," Robb called as loud as he dared. There was no response and no stirring from the King. Robb called several more times, but still nothing. As Robb stepped closer, he saw a goblet in the King's hand, and realized the man was probably so drunk that no sound would wake him. He walked until he was next to the bed, reaching out to shake his Father's friend. However, he stopped when he realized that man's chest was not rising and falling in his sleep. Robb, startled, shook the King frantically, praying for a response, but when he looked up he stared into nothing but lifeless eyes.

In shock, Robb almost tripped backwards. "He's dead," Robb whispered. He was barely aware of the others stepping beside him to see for themselves. "We're too late."

"You are too late, Stark," a female voice called behind them.

Robb turned quickly to see the Queen and Jaime Lannister standing behind them. He immediately drew his sword, gripping it with fury. "You murdered the King."

"Murdered?" the Queen grinned. "I do not know of what you speak. When I woke this morning, I was so distraught that my _loving_ husband had managed to drink himself to death. A tragedy for certain, but not unexpected."

"You poisoned the King, you traitorous whore," Robb shouted.

"Maybe," the golden-haired woman admitted. "But you will never get the chance to tell anyone.

"You can kill every one of us, but we are not the only ones who know of what your children are...or should I say, what they aren't. The news will spread, and the Lords of this Kingdom will draw the right conclusion about the King's death."

"Do you speak of Renly Baratheon, Stark?" the Kingslayer smirked, his face so disturbingly like his sister and lover's. "Ser Meryn!" Jaime Lannister called. From behind him the form of Meryn Trant emerged, a dripping sphere held in his fist. He threw the object across the room were fell with a smack into the floor. Robb was sure he felt his heart stop when he looked at the severed head of the King's youngest brother, blood seeping closer and closer to his feet. No help would be coming to their aid that morning.

"It was so good of Lord Baelish to let us know of Renly's sudden flight, right after he informed me of so many disturbing things that were happening in the northern reaches of the Kingdom. Your Father has been busy, it seems," the Queen stated.

"My little Brother saw you, and you tried to murder him for it!" Robb growled.

"It would have been better for everyone if he had simply died as he was supposed to," the Kingslayer sighed, making Robb seethe in anger.

"Kings were not enough for you Lannister, you had to murder boys as well?" Ser Barristan exclaimed. Robb had failed to notice the man had drawn his sword as well. "I've never seen a more deplorable example of a Knight in all my years."

"I have great respect for you, but your usefulness expired many years ago, Ser Barristan," the Kingslayer responded. "Truly, I will take no pleasure in killing you."

"No, the only pleasure you get is under your Sister's skirts," Robb remarked.

"I don't know what you are so surly for, Stark. You are the only one of your companions here who get to live today," Jaime Lannister informed him. "The threat of putting your head on a spike should be enough to convince your Father to bend the knee to Joffrey."

"I have _two_ Brothers to take my place as heir, Kingslayer," Robb reminded him. "Nothing is going to stop my Father from bringing the full might of the north down on you and your kin."

"We shall see, Stark. It's been so long since there has been a good battle."

"Enough of this," the Queen proclaimed, exasperated. "Finish this Jaime. There is a funeral and coronation to arrange. My son is to be King." The Queen turned and disappeared out of the door, only to be replaced by Ser Blount, Ser Mandon Moore, and four Lannister soldiers, all with their blades drawn.

"One last fight," Ser Barristan muttered from Robb's side. Jon and Jory had also joined them. "If my one last deed in this life is to rid this world of the traitorous scum that stands across from me, then it will have been worth it." The old man was surprisingly the first to move, and with speed belying his age he was across the room in an instant, his blade cutting through the air as he attacked the Kingslayer.

With every bit of pent up fury and rage in his body, Robb roared as he ran straight at Meryn Trant. Without even bothering with his sword, Robb threw the full weight of his charging body into the man. His shoulder drilled right into Trant's sternum, knocking him clear over. One of the Lannister soldier approached from a blind spot on his side, trying to impale him, but Jory was there quickly, knocking away the soldier's lunge. Robb followed and swung his sword, sweeping the blade right across the soldier's neck and creating shower of blood.

Robb turned back to Trant who was trying to gather himself on all fours, swinging his boot with all the force he possessed across his face. Teeth and fluids flew as Trant screamed in pain. Robb was intent on ending the man, but two more Lannisters forced him back against a wall. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jon slip under the strike of Boros Blount and fell the bald man with a cut across the back of the knees. Ser Barristan had forced the Kingslayer back, while at the same time disarming Mandon Moore, removing several of the man's fingers in the process.

Robb's attention was forced back to his own battle as the two Lannister swung at him in tandem. He managed to block both swords, but the force of it pinned him against the wall. The Lannister on the left took advantage and drove his fist into the side of Robb's face, stunning him briefly and causing him to drop his sword. The attacker did not get to follow up on his advantage, because Jory had driven his sword through the man's back to the point where it almost pierced Robb's own armor. Unfortunately, the sword stuck, and the other Lannister slashed Jory across the shoulder. As the soldier turned back around, Robb realized he could not reach his sword, but hanging on the wall behind him was the King's war hammer. He pulled it down, blocking a sword strike with the shaft, followed by swinging the face of the hammer straight into the Lannister's face. The man dropped to the ground, clutching his face, which had been caved in.

While Robb had sudden thought of potential victory, those hopes were quickly dashed when another swarm of Lannister guards took the place of the fallen. Jory was clutching his bleeding shoulder, while Jon was favoring a gash in his arm. All of his hopes fell though, when he watched the final moment of Ser Barristan Selmy. The Lord Commander had fought up to his legend, killing five Lannisters and most likely Mandon Moore, who was trying stop an endless flow of blood from the hole in his neck. However, the numbers were too many, and soldiers engulfed Ser Barristan, stabbing and slicing him from all sides, until he dropped to his knees, spent and unarmed.

Robb was shaken from his concentration on the disheartening sight, when he heard Jory yelling to Jon. "The balcony, Jon! Take Robb and go! Protect the heir!" Robb barely had time to retrieve his fallen sword before his Brother was pushing him towards the King's great balcony.

"No, we aren't leaving them!" Robb shouted, fighting against Jon.

"Go, Robb!" Jory yelled, fighting off a Lannister. "You promised me!" Those were last words of the Captain of Winterfell's Guard as he was run through from the side. He was dead by the time he hit the ground.

Robb's fight left him, tears developing in the corners of his eyes at the sight of his fallen friend. Jon finally managed to push him to edge the balcony, and without even looking over the edge, they jumped.


	13. Chapter 13

The fall was quick, but unfortunately so was the pain. There was a winding garden path beneath the King's balcony, and both Robb and Jon had landed in a line of shrubs. The growths had softened the impact with the ground, but the dense branches had poked and sliced at any exposed skin. Fighting to ignore the discomfort, Robb swiftly righted himself before pulling his brother to his feet.

No sooner had he managed to gain his bearings that something flew past his head and embedded into the ground. Looking back up towards the balcony that they had just vacated, Robb saw Jaime Lannister standing behind four soldiers in various stages of loading and firing crossbows.

"Run!" Robb shouted to Jon, instantly turning and fleeing down the garden path. Unfortunately, Robb was not quite fast enough, as a loosed crossbow bolt crashed into the back of his left shoulder and sunk shallowly into his flesh. He grunted at the pain, but kept moving away from the danger.

"We need to get out of the Keep and into the city," Jon stated, breathing heavily next to him. "Why have they not raised an alarm?"

"They want to keep this contained," Robb responded, grimacing as the movement of his armor jostled the bolt in his shoulder. "I doubt we will be able to simply walk through the gates, but we have to try." They kept running, away from Maegor's Holdfast and back towards the Maidenvault. How they managed to avoid running into anymore soldiers, Robb did not know, but he thanked the gods anyway. His thanks proved a waste though, because soon enough they had run into the last person that Robb wanted to see at that moment.

"Robb?" Margaery questioned when she saw them. Her Father, brother Loras, and a small retinue of Tyrell men accompanied her. "Robb, you look as if you've been in a fight. You're wounded!" She had walked up to him without a thought, and immediately noticed the bolt sticking out of him. "Who did this?"

"Lady Margaery, please step away from these traitors to the crown."

Robb turned away from Margaery and looked at the source of the new voice. He immediately wished he hadn't. At least twenty gold cloaks stood behind them, and at their side was a smirking Littlefinger, looking as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Lord Baelish, what is the meaning of this?" Mace Tyrell asked, a look of confusion, greater than usual, adorning his face.

"The King is dead," Jon answered first, beating Baelish to the punch. "Murdered by the Lannisters."

Lord Tyrell's eyes widened. "Is this true, Baelish?"

"As much as it pains me to say, King Robert has died," Littlefinger sighed. "Though it was his excessive love of wine that took him, not the Lannisters. Gone in his sleep."

"If the King died at his own hand, then why are you standing here with a host of armed men, accusing Stark of being a traitor?" Loras question, stepping forward to stand beside his Sister.

"Upon his brother's death, Renly Baratheon hatched a scheme to usurp the crown from the rightful heir to the throne, Joffrey Baratheon," Baelish's skilled tongue lied with ease. "These two conspired with Renly, and now there is an order for their arrest."

"You're despicable," Robb growled at Baelish. "Of all the whores in your brothels, you are the biggest of all. What did they promise you for your lies? Gold? Titles?"

"You should know, a whore never reveals their client's secrets," Baelish grinned.

"Would someone please explain to me what is going on?" Lord Tyrell blustered.

"Where is Renly?" Loras asked, his face practically white.

"Renly is dead, Loras," Robb answered softly, watching as Margaery's brother practically fell over, his arm reaching out to his Sister for support.

"How?" Loras barely managed to get out.

"We discovered that the Queen and Kingslayer have been engaged in an affair for years. The Princes and Princess are the products of incest and don't have a drop of Baratheon blood in them. Renly was riding to Storm's End to gather support before this was revealed to King Rober, but the Lannisters rode him down and cut his head off."

Loras' eyes flashed with both pain and fury. He reached to his waste and drew his sword, before moving to stand beside Robb.

"Come now, Ser Loras," Littlefinger smiled. "You don't believe these tales?"

"I'd believe the words of a Stark over a loathsome flesh merchant like you any day, Baelish. Order your guard to stand down and let us through, or I swear I will cut a path through you."

"Loras!" Mace Tyrell yelled. "Stop this madness. Stand down and let these men do their duty. The Lannisters have been nothing but accommodating to us, and we will not cross them."

"Father, you are a coward," Margaery accused, bitingly. "You would have our family besmirch its honor by groveling at the feet of the Lannisters like dogs? They have murdered the King!"

"All lies, I'm sure," Mace Tyrell nodded, convinced of himself.

"You truly are a fool, Father," Margaery sighed, before turning her head to the six Tyrell soldiers behind him. "You brave men. Who will stand with Ser Loras? Who will defend the Kingdom?" The men looked at each other in confusion, unsure of what to do. After some internal debate, three of them stepped forward, drawing their swords. Robb simply stared at the force of nature that was Margaery. If he had not been in love with her before, he certainly was now.

"I think enough talking has been done," Baelish interrupted, genially. "I had hoped it would not come to this, Robb. I still do care very much for your Mother. I am sure it will greatly distress her when she hears of her firstborn's death. Take them." The first row of gold cloaks, armed with spears, lowered them and took a deliberate step towards Robb, and his supporting four.

"Robb, the outcome of this looks grim," Jon muttered from beside him.

"If this is the end, then I am sorry for making you come with me."

Jon managed a laugh. "I could think of worse ways to die. None right now, but I'm sure I could."

The gold cloaks were practically on top of them when a scream came from their rear. The gold cloaks in front stopped in confusion, and turned to look for the source of the sudden commotion. Apparently what they saw scared them deeply, because half of them dropped their spears and began to run in varying directions, all of them away. It did not take long for Robb to realize what was happening. He saw flashes of white and grey fur as the northern beasts tore through the flesh of the city watch. Grey Wind and Ghost had found something else to hunt.

Not wasting the distraction, Robb surged forward and drove his sword into the first gold cloak he could reach. Jon and Loras followed soon after, cutting a swathe through the enemy line. Loras was a man possessed, as his sword cut through limb and torso of the stunned soldiers, who barely put up a fight. Soon enough, faced with devastating attacks from both sides, the remaining gold cloaks ran, leaving an unnaturally stunned Littlefinger standing on his own. Robb approached the man, gripped him tightly by the neck, and drove the pommel of his sword across his face, gashing it.

"You can add that scar to the one my Uncle Brandon gave you. Maybe this time you'll learn not to cross my family."

Baelish reached up to his face and wiped away a smear of red. "And maybe you will share his fate, dead and forgotten."

"The north always remembers, Baelish," Robb countered.

"Robb, we need to go," Jon hurried him. "We've already attracted more attention."

"He's right Robb, we need to go," Loras stated, his face still a tangle of emotions.

"You are coming with us?" Robb asked.

"I've no choice now. The Lannisters are my enemy, and I will see them pay for their schemes."

"I'm coming as well," Margaery asserted, putting herself between them.

"Daughter, you most certainly are not!" Mace Tyrell yelled. "You will do your duty to your family and secure our alliance with the crown. You are to be Queen."

Margaery stared at her Father with contempt. "I will never be Joffrey's Queen, Father. You would deliver me into the hands of a wicked child to become his plaything? I may be but a woman, but that will not be my fate."

"This boy has spoken lies to you daughter," Lord Tyrell pointed at Robb. "I have seen you with him. He just wants to take you for himself!"

"And I _want_ him to take me Father, that is the difference," Margaery shot back.

"So you will disobey your Father to go and freeze as some northern boy's wife?"

Given their dire need to leave and his sheer exasperation at Mace Tyrell, Robb decided to end things. "Aye, Lord Tyrell. I will make her my wife, but I would never let her freeze, nor want for anything. Which is more than I can say for a fool like you, who would hand over his only daughter to be tortured into misery for the rest of her life. Winterfell may be cold, but not as cold as your heart, sir." His piece said, Robb turned to the others. "Let's go, quickly."

He reached for Margaery, and she took his hand as they ran towards the main gate out of the Keep and into the City. Within a few moments, the group of seven along with two direwolves was in sight of the gate. Unfortunately, the vision they were met with had them cease their steps immediately. The gate was closed, and along the parapets were gold cloaks bearing crossbows. On the ground, dozens of Lannister soldiers stood at the ready, making sure that no one was leaving."

"Robb, what will we do?" Margaery asked, worry clear in her voice. For as much as Robb wanted to ease her worry, he was having enough trouble with his own. There were other gates, but they meant going back towards Maegor's Holdfast, which was certainly not desirable, and just as likely shut. His only other thought was to get onto the walls and try to find away over and down. However, as it turned out, their savior appeared out of nowhere in the form of small boy, who looked like he could be no older than five or six.

"Are you Robb Stark?" the boy asked, his voice calm and steady.

"I am," Robb replied, his confusion at the whole situation evident.

"If you want to safely leave the Keep, follow me."

"Who are you?"

"A little bird, and a parting gift." With that, the boy took off.

Robb looked at the others, who were equally flummoxed. Seeing no guidance coming from them, he did the only thing he could do, and followed after his tiny, would be savior. It did not take long for him to realize where they were headed...straight into the Godswood. His confusion only grew, because there was no way out of the Keep that he was aware of. They ran deeper into the wood, past the great oak heart tree, until there ran into yet another strange sight. Standing at the base of a tree was another child, this one a slightly older girl. She stood silently, holding a burning lantern in one hand.

Their young guide ran up to where the girl stood, and then bent down to reach for something at the base of the tree. In his hand appeared a weathered rope, looped at end. He pulled at it hard, and Robb watched in amazement as the ground before the tree lifted, revealing a wooden door and dark passage. Once the passage was completely exposed, the boy stepped back, and the young girl approached, holding the lantern out for Robb. "Go quickly, Robb Stark."

Pausing only a moment for the absurdity of the moment to sink in, Robb grabbed the lantern and approached the dark cavern. Carved, earthen steps revealed themselves under the exposure to the light, and Robb wasted little time beginning his descent. The steps were not many, but they were steep. Margaery was behind him, so he stopped to make sure that her dress did not impede her way. When he was certain that she was fine, he finished his decent, until he stood at the beginning of the passage. The air was musty and stale, and the walls, which were held up by decrepit wooden posts, looked like they could cave in at any moment. Which was all the reason not to delay.

The group walked swiftly down the passage, the air becoming thicker and thicker. At one point they were startled when the passage became even darker, but then realized that the children had closed the secret door. They walked for a while longer, until they thankfully reached another set of stairs.

At the base of the steps, Robb turned to the others. "Margaery, stay to the back. We don't know what, or whom we are walking into. Though I cannot imagine that those children led us out of the Keep only to put us in greater danger." He spun and made his was to the top of the steps. Once, there he could see the outline of another trap door above him. He reached up, placing his palms on the door. The pain from his wound stunned him slightly, but he bit harshly at his lip, and pushed upwards. Nothing happened. He tried again, grunting with extra force. Again nothing.

"Jon, help me with this," he called to his brother. Jon stepped up next to him, and together they pushed. This time they at least achieved movement, but not much of it. They tried again, but it was clear more force was needed. Realizing this as well, Loras squeezed himself onto the top step, and all together they pushed. It quickly became evident, that no one had used this passage in a long time because as they pushed they could hear the sound of cracking and sliding above them. Someone had built over the door. From there it was just a matter of pushing until they had sufficiently broke through the surface above. As they did, light flooded into the tunnel, and Robb had to briefly shut his eyes until they adjusted to the change.

Robb gripped his sword and launched himself through the opening and out of the tunnel. While he had been ready to meet enemy soldiers, he had not been prepared for the sight that greeted him. He was in an exotically decorated room, and in the middle of it was a great bed. On top of it, a naked woman writhed enthusiastically on top of a great fat man, who was moaning in apparent pleasure. They had managed to escape the Red Keep and burrow their way into what Robb was pretty certain was a brothel. Robb could not help but shake his head. The others were just as stunned as they exited the tunnel. Though, what was more amazing was that the two rutting on the bed continued on with their activities, not even realizing that six people had just emerged out of the ground.

Robb wasted no more time and led them out of the room. Fortunately, no one seemed to pay them much mind as they maneuvered their way through the establishment, and finally out of the door. Robb breathed an audible sigh of relief as they walked into the daylight. Before Robb could continue to move them towards the gate, Loras pulled him back.

"Robb, we need to pull that bolt out of your shoulder. It will draw attention to us if people see you walking around with that."

Not enthusiastic at the prospect of it, but realizing the utility, Robb nodded, gritting his teeth as Loras reached for the bolt. Without any warning, Loras yanked at it, and Robb had to stop himself from shouting at the agony of it. He wasn't sure if it was the sudden pain that had done it, but for some reason something popped into the forefront of his mind, something that he needed to. Or rather someone that he needed to get.

"Jon, Loras, get everyone out of King's Landing to the inn where Theon is waiting. There is something that I need to do before I leave."

"Robb, what are saying? We need to leave now!" Jon exclaimed.

"I need to get the blacksmith," Robb explained quickly. "He is not safe here any longer."

"Let _me_ go, Robb," Jon pleaded. "You need to get out of here."

"No, I will go," Robb shook his head, denying him. "Get to Theon, and have the horses prepared to ride."

Robb was about to turn, but a hand stopped him. He looked back to Margaery, who leaned up and kissed him briefly. "You told my Father you would marry me, so you better make it out of here to do it."

"I promise," Robb stated, as he turned and headed for Tobho Mott's shop. He navigated his way through the streets, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which was hard when bloody and wearing armor. Once on the Street of Steel, Robb picked up his pace and ran to his destination. Fortunately, Gendry's master was nowhere to be seen. The apprentice looked like he was in the process of putting the shop back in order following the end of the tournament. Gendry stopped when he saw Robb standing in the entrance.

"Lord Stark?" Gendry questioned. "Did you need me to make a repair on your armor?"

Robb shook his head urgently. "No, I need you to come with me. Right now."

The blacksmith frowned. "Come with you? Come with you where?"

"North. Away from King's Landing."

"I can't leave," Gendry argued. "This is my job, my home."

"Gendry, you aren't safe here any longer," Robb explained. "They are going to come for you, and they will kill you."

"What are you talking about? Who wants to kill me?"

"The Lannisters, Gendry. It has to do with your Father."  
"You know who my Father is?"

"I do," Robb nodded. "But there is not enough time to explain it right now. We need to leave the city. I promise it will make sense."

Gendry looked around, clearly contemplating everything. Finally he agreed. "I've always wanted to leave this place," he explained. "I guess there's no better time than now, if it means I won't die."

"Good," Robb stated. "If you have anything of importance, retrieve it now, and let's be off. Oh, and bring a sword as well. You certainly are not short of them here." The blacksmith moved quickly, removing his apron, and pulling on a shirt. He pulled on a belt and attached one of the swords that hung on a rack. The final thing was his bull helmet. "Ready," Gendry announced, giving the shop one last glance.

Within a minute of them leaving, the ominous sounds of bells ringing from the Red Keep could be heard. All around them people stopped what they were doing and looked towards the Keep. "What is that?" Gendry questioned.

"The King is dead."

Gendry stopped walking, forcing Robb to as well. "Did you kill him? Is that why we're running?"

"No, but I know who did. And they are same people who will see your throat slit and body thrown into the Blackwater. Keep moving." Robb picked up their pace, concerned now that an alarm had been raised. They weaved their way through the assembling crowds until finally they were within sight of the Dragon Gate, and the Kingsroad beyond. Once again, luck was not on his side, as it seemed the guards were in the process of closing the gate. Three men stood guard at the gate, preventing anyone from exiting, while two more were fooling with the lowering mechanism.

"Can you fight Gendry?" Robb asked, drawing his sword.

"Well enough," the blacksmith answered, following Robb's lead, though somewhat hesitant.

"Good. We are going to surprise the two lowering the gate, before it can be shut any further. Be fast and deliberate."

They stayed close to the wall until they were within a few steps of the two gold cloaks. Robb moved first, swinging his pommel down viciously on the back of the left-hand guard's head. There was a great clang as the sword struck the metal helm, and the man yelled and fell to the ground in pain. The downed soldier rolled onto this back to view his attacker, but before he had the chance to do anymore, Robb thrust the heel of his boot into the man's face. Robb looked over and saw that Gendry had just as effectively neutralized his target.

"You there! Drop your weapons this instant!" The voice shouted and Robb looked to see the three gold cloaks guarding the gate approaching, swords drawn. He could see the gate was still slowly closing.

"Gendry, stop the gate. I'll deal with them," Robb stated.

"You do know there are three of them, and one of you?"

"Those are some of the best odds I've had this morning. Now go." Robb moved forward as the three soldiers spread out around him. They eyed each other, daring the other to make the first move. Robb had to say, these men had never come across as the best trained or overly intelligent, and they proved Robb's assumptions true when they decided to attack him one at a time instead of together. The guard in center moved first, intent on impaling Robb, but he simply side-stepped the lunge, then swung down harshly across the man's arms, cutting into them deeply, and irreparably.

The next gold cloak stepped forward and hacked at Robb's head, forcing Robb to raise his sword and block the strike. While their swords were locked, Robb drove his knee up into the man's stomach. His opponent forced back, Robb swung his sword down at the man's thigh, cutting deeply and dropping him to the ground. While they had been fighting, the third gold cloak had disappeared. Robb did not realize the danger until he heard the shout behind him. The final gold cloak rushed at him quickly, but before he had a chance to drive his sword into Robb's back, the tip of another sword appeared from nowhere out of the man's gut, blood coating it's length. The gold cloak stopped instantly, shock on his face as he looked down at his impending end. Robb watched as the sword was pulled out, the man dropped lifeless, and Gendry was left standing alone, sword still extended.

"Thanks for that," Robb thanked him. Gendry merely nodded back, still a little stunned at his actions. Robb noticed that the gate had ceased in its movement, and that people were now streaming in and out of the gate freely, now that the obstacles stopping them were gone. Gendry and Robb merged seamlessly into the crowd, and before Robb knew it, they were standing on the other side of the walls, and he was one step closer to home.


	14. Chapter 14

Their pace had fallen off when they managed to put some distance between themselves and the gate, but Robb's urgency increased when the sound of hounds barking and howling began to creep up on them. It was still early morning, yet Robb felt like he had been going for days without rest. The reality of the day's events had barely begun to seem real. Even with his own mind a jumble of thoughts, he spared a glance to his left at the blacksmith, and realized that Gendry had no idea that his own Father had been murdered just hours earlier. While he had promised Gendry an explanation, he did not look forward to it.

No matter how much faster they ran, the sound of the hounds behind them became louder. The shrill cry of the dogs was unbearable. Finally, Robb took a chance and looked back, only to grow disheartened at the sight of four great beasts gaining on them quickly. They would not be able to out run them. As if the gods could hear his thoughts, or perhaps something else, Grey Wind and Ghost appeared before them. The direwolves moved with terrifying speed, natural predators on the hunt. The hounds, realizing they were in danger, came to a skidding, sudden stop, but it was too late for them. The wolves crashed into them, ripping, biting and slashing at them.

Robb and Gendry continued running until the sight of a building became noticeable in the distance ahead. As they approached, they saw Jon, Theon, Loras and Margaery waiting anxiously next to an outfitted group of horses. Robb watched as Margaery's tense form immediately relaxed when she saw him. As he reached her, she held her arms out, embracing him as best she could around his armored torso.

"Thank the gods," she whispered upon releasing him. "We feared you would not make it out."

"It was a close call, but we made it," Robb stated. Looking back, he saw Gendry still breathing heavily, looking completely lost. "Everyone, this is Gendry. He is a friend."

"Lovely," Theon snarked, mounting one of the horses. "I'm glad you've obviously had the opportunity to be social, but from what this lot has said, we need to leave, and quickly. I have no intention of seeing my head on a pike in front of the Red Keep."

"He's right," Robb agreed. "We need to make it to Riverrun. My Grandfather will protect us, and I'll be able to send a raven to Winterfell from there."

"I'm sure the Lannisters have already sent their own versions of events around Westeros," Jon frowned.

"All the more reason to get moving."

"One problem," Theon remarked. "We are short a horse. I wasn't expecting so many of you. It was hard enough to get these, and that was through not so innocent means. Though, I suppose the girl can ride with me. We'll have to hold each other close though."

"I think she will be fine with me," Robb frowned as he untethered one of the remaining horses. He hoisted itself onto the back, and then reached down for Margaery who was waiting beside him. She climbed up clumsily behind him, doing her best to situate herself while wearing a dress. When she was finally seated, she reached her arms out and placed them along Robb's sides.

"We won't make it to Riverrun by nightfall, Robb," Jon noted, pulling up next him on his mount.

"No, and I would not risk riding without the light. There are too many dangers waiting for us." Robb could only imagine trying to navigate the forests with every manner of thief and sellsword lying in wait.

"Can we risk approaching a castle?" Loras asked.

"We have three choices. When we make the turn west towards Riverrun, we pass Darry, Harrenhall, and Raventree Hall. They are all my Grandfather's bannerman, but House Whent and House Darry were no friends of Robert Baratheon. I'm not sure how sympathetic they will be to us." Robb explained. In fact, they were likely feasting his demise. Their Targaryen loyalty still ran deeply.

"Father considers Lord Blackwood to be a good friend," Jon spoke. "They keep to the Old Gods as well."

Robb agreed this was their best option. "Raventree Hall is the farthest ride, but it is the safest. I will feel better being closer to Riverrun though. We need to ride now."

There was no more talk as the nine set off north on the Kingsroad. They passed numerous travelers along the way, and there was little doubt that their party drew unwanted attention as it galloped fast away from King's Landing. It was some hours into their journey when Robb finally saw Grey Wind and Ghost stalking them through the woods. The blood from their kills was still shining wet on their muzzles.

What quickly became evident was that the horses acquired by Theon were not of the strongest, or healthiest variety. Robb could already feel his mount laboring under their aggressive pace, which in truth was not so aggressive. Half of King's Landing had most likely emptied behind them, and they certainly were not riding on the backs of the same tired steeds as Robb and his companions. And that meant that every second their pursuers were gaining ground on them. The fact that his own horse was carrying twice the weight left he and Margaery trailing the rest of the group.

Margaery's hands were still clamped tightly around him, and he could feel her warm breath against his neck. "How are you faring back there," he asked her.

"Fine," she replied after a moment. "Honestly, I think I'm still in shock at what's transpired this morning."

Robb instantly felt guilt grip him at what he had dragged her into...away from her home and chased for treason. He loved her, yet he had put a price on her head. "I'm sorry, Margaery. I never intended to bring this all down upon you as well."

She gripped him tighter. "It was not your fault. It was my choice to come, and if my Father had his way, I would be nothing but a slave to Joffrey's whims for the rest of my life. I would rather die a thousand times, than be his false queen."

"Still...I have no idea what the coming days will hold for us. Though war seems inevitable."

"I do know one thing that will happen," Margaery asserted. "You told my Father you would marry me, so we can't have him calling you a liar."

"That is a promise I most certainly _will_ keep."

"Do you think your family will truly approve?" Margaery inquired, worriedly. "It is not often that children come to their parents and dictate who they will marry."

Robb laughed, "You mean as you just did to your Father? _You_ seemed to have little trouble. And for what it is worth, we northerners tend be a wee bit impetuous by nature."

They managed another hour of hard riding before they had no choice but to stop and water the horses. Robb led to the same place where the King's party had stopped on the way from Winterfell. It provided them cover and was a reasonable distance away from Harrenhall. Robb stood on the bank of the lake, looking out to where the Isle of Faces stood out a lonely figure in a surround of water. He wished he could walk on the Isle at that moment and kneel before the weirwoods. However, time and circumstances were not currently in his favor.

Only taking as long as they felt they could risk, their party was quickly off again north. The next stretch of the journey would take them off the Kingsroad and over the open plains between Darry and Harrenhall. They made the turn west, easing off their hastened pace. It would not do to lose the horses in the middle of nowhere, and away from water. They traveled easily for a while, and Robb became convinced that they would actually make it Raventree Hall without any further peril. His thoughts were premature.

"Robb!" Theon called from his lead position. "Riders in the distance to the west. They're moving fast to us."

Robb immediately looked left, while at the same time he felt Margaery's grip tighten considerably. Theon wasn't mistaken. A group of riders, considerable in number, were far off in the distance in the direction of Harrenhall, but they were making up the distance in a hurry. They would clearly be outnumbered if it came to fighting. And it did not help that Grey Wind had sped on ahead of them and were nowhere in sight.

"What do we do Robb, they are gaining on us?" Theon called again.

The truth was they likely had little choice. There was no way they would be able to outrun them. Things were only getting worse as the daylight was beginning to wane. Before he had an opportunity to respond to Theon, he watched as the three Tyrell men who had accompanied them brought their horses to a stop, and then drew their swords.

"Go, my lord and lady," one the soldiers said without hesitation, not even looking back at them. "We will slow them down as long as we can. Go now!"

"Your bravery will not be forgotten," Loras stated solemnly.

"Thank you," Margaery called as well to her loyal men.

"Let's go," Robb ordered, thankful as well for the soldiers' sacrifice. "Ride hard to Raventree and don't look back."

Robb spurred his horse and the, now smaller, group moved on. Robb could not say how long it was after that, but eventually the sounds of screams in the distance echoed behind them, sounds of death. He tried to ignore the reality of the slaughter that was taking place, but he could not do so. They rode and rode, the sky becoming darker and darker. Robb attempted to stop himself, but he could not help looking back. The sight was not encouraging. At least a dozen men were on them and approaching rapidly. Robb looked forward again and saw relief appear in front of them. The braziers along the walls of Raventree Hall were burning brightly in the distance. The others had obviously seen them too, because they all dug their heels into their mounts with staggering force.

The castle grew larger and larger the closer they got, but the sounds of hooves and armor rattling behind them grew louder and louder as well. Robb's heart was practically beating out his chest and he had to remind himself to breathe. Finally they were upon the castle walls and Robb instantly noticed that while the draw bridge over the moat was down, the gate had been closed. Theon, who was still leading the group, brought his horse to a halt at the drawbridge. Robb came to a stop behind the rest and immediately looked up. Along the walls and atop the two large towers surrounding the gate were archers and men with crossbows aimed down at them. Looking behind them he saw that their pursuers had finally caught up and formed a line behind them, closing them in. Some wore Lannister red, while others, likely sellswords, wore all manner of color and sigil.

"Who comes seeking entrance into my walls?" A voice boomed from the top of the left hand tower. Robb looked on at who was obviously Lord Tytos Blackwood. He was a tall, imposing figure, dressed darkly with a raven cloak. His dark hair and beard was streaked with grey, but the man looked like he was as vibrant as any man half his age. "I will not ask again," the Lord of the keep, growled at them.

Robb pushed his horse closer, until he was in front of their group. "Lord Blackwood, I am Robb Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Loras and Margaery of House Tyrell accompany me. We come seeking the shelter and protection of your House."

Lord Blackwood countenance instantly turned from fierce to surprised. "And who are these men, armed and bearing steel behind you?"

Robb turned again as one of the Lannister men brought his horse in front of the others. "My Lord, I come at the behest of his Grace, King Joffrey Baratheon. This man, Robb Stark is guilty of conspiring to take crown from King Robert's son and heir. By now you should have received a raven detailing his crimes."

Lord Blackwood rubbed at his beard. "I may have received such a raven."

"Then you will assist us in returning these traitors to King's Landing so that they may receive the King's justice?" the Lannister man questioned, though it was more a statement laced with a threat.

"What do you say to these accusations, Stark?" Lord Blackwood asked.

"Lannister lies, Lord Blackwood," Robb replied strongly. "King Robert and Renly Baratheon were murdered by the Lannisters."

Lord Blackwood was silent before he turned and gave the man next to him on the tower a subtle nod. "The day I trust the words of a Lannister over those of the son of Eddard Stark, is a day that will never come."

The Lannister man frowned at the response. "When the King learns of your treason you will face his wrath."

Lord Blackwood smiled, yet there was no good will behind it. "Then it's best _the_ _King_ never learns of it. Archers!" Robb felt the arrows and bolts whip by him just beyond his head. He watched as dozens of them rained down into the line of Lannister soldiers, piercing through armor and flesh, dropping them one by one. None of them would be riding back to King's Landing with any message for the King. When the final arrow had landed, the gate blocking their path began to rise. Without looking back at the pile of bodies behind them, they made their way through the gate. For the first time in days, Robb felt some sense of relief as the large wooden keep of Raventree Hall stood before them.

Lord Blackwood's guards rushed passed them as they entered to make sure the Lannisters were well and taken care of. The first thing that Robb did when they entered the courtyard was slide off of his horse, enjoying the feeling of having his feet on the ground again. He turned and helped Margaery off the horse behind him. Now that they were finally out of danger, and his thoughts no longer preoccupied, the pain from the crossbow bolt he had taken came back in full force. He reached up and could still feel the wetness of fresh blood. His focus was taken away again when Lord Blackwood came to greet them.

"Welcome to Raventree Hall, Robb Stark."

"Thank you, Lord Blackwood," Robb bowed his head. "I'm sorry to put you in this position, but I knew that you could be trusted."

"The grandson of Hoster Tully and the son of Eddard Stark is always welcome here, Robb. Though, I would appreciate an explanation as to what is happening."

Before Robb had a chance to reply, Margaery saw fit to make her presence known. "Lord Blackwood, we would be more than willing to explain everything to you, but do you have someone who could attend to Robb's wound first? We've been riding all day and it has not been cleaned."

"Of course, my Lady. I'll have the maester see to it immediately, and have rooms prepared for the night."

The maester did a serviceable job on his wound, and provided Robb with a new, blood-free shirt. Finally being out of his armor was a welcome relief. Hot food had been prepared for them in the hall of the Keep, and they sat to eat alone with Lord Blackwood. Robb recounted every detail of the events that had occurred in King's Landing, Lord Tytos listening with rapt attention.

"This means Stannis is the rightful king," Lord Tytos stated, sipping from a cup of wine. "War is a foregone conclusion now, if Stannis truly knows of the Queen's infidelity as you say."

"I am certain he does," Robb asserted. "He would not have left the Capital so quickly for any other reason."

Lord Tytos frowned. "Stannis sees things as black and white. He will stop at nothing until he is King or he is dead. I've sent ravens off to Riverrun and Winterfell of your arrival."

"Thank you for that, my Lord. I'm uncertain of where my Father is at the moment. I know he has been gathering his strength in the north."

"I hope he knows that House Blackwood is ready to stand with him."

Robb nodded. "I will make sure he knows, and of what you have done for us tonight. Not all would have done so without reservation."

"You all should get some rest," Lord Tytos suggested. "I'm sure it has been a trying day. We will escort you to Riverrun and your family in the morning. You will be safe in these walls tonight, I promise."

A servant led them all to their rooms. They were small, but still comfortable. The sight of the bed to Robb was especially welcoming. As soon as he was enclosed inside the room, he fell backwards onto it with a contented sigh. He began to drift, but was jolted awake by the sound of his door opening. He wasn't all that surprised to see Margaery coming through. Someone had given her a gown to sleep in that was, while not of the fine quality she was used to, still attractive on her. Though he doubted anything could make her unattractive. She closed the door behind her and glided barefoot over to his bed. Without a hint of hesitation, she lowered herself next to him and molded herself into his side. The warmth of her body next to his was probably the most soothing thing that he had ever felt in his young life.

"I did not want to sleep alone," she whispered.

"I am not protesting," Robb smiled into her hair, kissing her head. "With hope it will be the first night of many."


End file.
